


Daichi: A Grand Adventure

by Momma



Category: Naruto
Genre: And dark, Angry Daichi, Daichi does not dwell on everything that sucks, Daichi is not exactly happy with life, Daichi makes his own dysfunctional family, Familial Abuse, Familial Relationships, Found Family, Gen, It gets better!, Lies, Maybe some angst, Mentions of Starvation, Mildly Graphic Abuse Aftermath, Other, Panic Attacks, Self-Insert, This is not angsty, and it is going to get hangry, been done to death so I am doing it too, but he makes do, but upbeat about it?, definitely angst, he does his best, he understands but is still upset, its not as bad as it sounds?, just painful, mentions of abuse, okay, tbh I have a very faint clue of where this is going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-08-29 15:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16746391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momma/pseuds/Momma
Summary: So he is alive. And misses basically everything. And nothing is fair. So he picks himself up and makes the best of it. Whatever it is. It’s not like he has a choice, right?





	1. Starting at the Bottom

**Author's Note:**

> I blame every single one of you on Discord.
> 
> [My Discord](https://discord.gg/4dCN72X)

“What,” is stated blandly right over me as I lay flat on my back, the sky a brilliant hue this time of the day, fading from a purpled midnight to true morning blue. I take a deep breath, gather the air that was knocked out, and cough once. Much better. At least the grass is thick and soft, if wet.

“Sorry, gramps,” I rasp. “I thought you would move.”

“And I,” comes the amused baritone, “thought you would stop.” I’m suddenly airborne, large hands pulling me up until I can look the white-silver haired man in the eye properly. With my (long, long, _long_ ) braid swinging like a pendulum behind me, I know I look like some spoiled princess. “Hime-“ there it is, the assumption, “-what are you doing out so early?”

Since this is a _ninja_ , it only makes sense to _not_ _lie_. “I’m going to the Market,” which, true.

“Because mama asked me to,” and not entirely true.

Let me rephrase: I try not to lie _badly_.

Still, he seems to be... okay with that answer. “Why don’t I accompany the little Hime?”

I look him over. Smell the sweat, the blood, the foul stench of a stomach and intestine having been cut open (it was only a deer the one time when my baby brother had been trying to learn and the smell never left my memory. Remarkably? Deer and men smell just alike when eviscerated). So, I raise a brow. He cannot have forgotten he smelled like a cheap butcher.

“How about you go wash up, _then_ come to Market? I’ll be here for some time.”

He snorts after a moment of contemplation, sitting me on my feet and wiping my back off efficiently. “Alright, Hime. I’ll go get cleaned up and meet you at Market.”

I can’t stop my smile. He’s adorable. “Use soap!”

He actually laughs and I feel my little four year old heart flutter. Gosh darnit. I hate how... unadulterated and genuinely I like people at this age. It’s confusing. And manic. No wonder most children are little skitzo maniacs who would follow a stranger home. Turning away with a red face, I carefully do not stomp to the center of the village to the massive trades good center called simply Market.

I browse for a moment, frowning at the bits of rotten food that haven’t been taken out of the haul on the outer stalls. Such terrible manners, these sellers. Still, these ones tend to have better prices for spices.

“Ah, Hime!” The old man two stalls down leans over, waving for me to come closer. “It has been a few days! Are you well?” The old guy with false teeth and enough wrinkles to make a Pug envious is Honda-san. He keeps me in sweets and citrus, having his own grove and living his life doing this more for the human interaction than need of money. His son is getting ready to inherit, his daughter married to a well off merchant in Tea, and, from what he says, he has a small army of great-grandchildren. He’s a sweet guy, really.

“Yes, Honda-san?” I inquire with a small smile. Tugging my nearly ankle length braid over my shoulder, I look over his counter. I am... large for a four year old. Exceptionally tall, actually, but not as tall as I could be considering who my parents are. Still, I can pass for a tall five or short six year old. It is disconcerting looking in a mirror. And not because of my size.

“Just the person I was looking for,” he states, avoiding all gender specific pronouns. He knows a lot, even my gender, but he is also kind of crazy and likes to mess with people’s heads. Winking like the mad man he is, he heaves to drag up a massive basket of fruit I haven’t seen since becoming aware of this life. Star fruit. “I know you said something about fruit the shape of a star once! I found an old man-“ ah ha, that’s hilarious coming from him, “-who grows it. He is willing to part with a few cuttings and Hime gets something Hime wants!”

I legitimately squeal, seizing the basket and staggering back when the full weight settles in my arms. I start to trip and fall when strong arms pluck me up. The hand is large, hot, and really familiar.

“It’s not even been twenty minutes!” I yelp, kicking my feet. “Put me down, please!”

I’m set gently to my feet and that same large hand comes down on my head like I’m his kid. I look up and snort. His hair is still wet and dripping into his face, the profile achingly familiar and yet different. He’s legitimately beautiful, the kind that grabs at your lungs and holds tight for the first moment every time you look at them. This is also the first time I’ve even seen him properly in this life and I already miss his son who hasn’t even been born yet. Maybe.

Has he had a kid? Why hasn’t he had a kid yet? He’s obviously old enough. “Are you married?”

There’s another startled laughed, the man looking down at me even as he takes the heavy basket from my hands. He doesn’t even shift with what has to be nearly thirty pounds of exotic fruit. That frustrating... _man_. “Maa maa, Hime. That is a personal question.”

Okay, yes. That is a bit of a sore point. And, honestly? I get it. We live in an almost modernized war-state, the threat of assassination to spouses and family and friends a high stakes game that nobody wants to trust or lose to. So, no personal questions. After all, the villages were just formed and, hey, why not celebrate with a massive _war_?

Frowning mulishly at my thoughts, I grab the left hand of the tall man. Shinobi. Whatever. “Come on, old man, I have a lot of shopping to do before breakfast.”

“Well,” begins the man as I lead him from stall to stall, watching me sweet talk and haggle prices. I am not good at it. At all. But I’m a baby-faced child and the shopkeepers are fond of me with my often return business so the prices are usually fair and even a few take pity to give me better prices or more produce. “I would say your mother should be doing this...” I glance at him as I finish at the tomatocart, daintily tucking green tomatoes into the star fruit basket along with all my other purchases. He seems to mull something over before waiting until I tug him into a small alley, looking up expectantly. As the short alley is a nice spot to rest out of the crowd, we garner no attention. “But she isn’t in the village is she?”

Drat and gosh darnit. Of course he could parse that. I sigh, his eyes taking their time to look me over. He might be seeing a resemblance which, okay, I can handle, but why is he so suddenly invested in me? Hello? Kid who ran into you this morning? For the first time?

“And you don’t... seem to live with a father...?”

I snort. “If the man even knows I exist, I will make you breakfast for a month,” I bargain recklessly. “I’m a battlefield baby. I was conceived and born in bloodshed, old man. And, once mother was well enough to go back, she went.”

He shifts back, something like surprise flickering over his face. “Then. Who _are_ you living with? Your father’s family? Your mother’s?”

I could say “personal”, but this is one of the mainstay people of my every wish (and nightmare) brought to life before me. I am fond of the idiot. Which, an idiot, really. Who talks about shopping with an unknown child covered in stale viscera?

“Both,” I not-lie because I do. Technically. The look he gives me is pretty intense. I’m not lying, but I’m not saying the whole truth. How can he tell?! Does he smell it on me? Hand on my hip, I pout at him. “What?”

He crouches, settling the basket on the ground and setting his hands on my shoulders.

“Hime-chan, please,” he says firmly, softly, as if I’m one of his teammates, someone important to him as he slips a familiar honorific in there, “tell me the truth.”

I take a slow breath, looking at this man that I know and do not and sigh it out. Patting his arm, I grab my basket and start to drag it out with me. His hands don’t leave me—in fact, he hauls me close to him and stalls me in a hold even experienced shinobi would have trouble getting out of. I groan, stomping my foot.

“Darnit, old man!”

He sighs in return, pressing his face to my neck even as I stiffen for a moment. When he breathes deep, his chest expands like a barrel against my shoulders. “Okay,” he begins, voice a little rough. “Okay. I have a proposition for you, Hime-chan.”

I wiggle a little, biting at the hand in reach. “No,” I hiss like an angry cat. “I don’t want to! Because you will find out and they will have expectations I _cannot_ live up to!”

“Is that any damned reason to be damn near malnourished?!” he growled back, my frame too thin for the bones underneath. I kick back futilely before sagging. Fine. Whatever.

“What do you want from me, old man?” I huff, sagging like a sack of angled sticks in his arms. He has picked me up twice already, so of course he would notice.

He sighs, plopping down on the ground and probably in something disgusting because, hello, people are filthy animals, then tugs me into his lap. “I want you to stop lying and tell me why you are severely underweight for an Akimichi.”

I let my head thunk on his shoulder. _Feck_. I dislike cursing so fouly, but this calls for it. Just. Fine. “I’m not a full Akimichi, old man. And, honestly, they don’t seem to want a half breed.” Which, ahem, about eighty percent true. The hand close to my face releases its hold to tap my nose. He legitimately growls when I stay quiet for several beats. I roll my eyes. “No. I told you well enough, now let go so I can buy a ton of food that won’t feed me properly.”

He stands, tucks me under his arm, and then the basket under the other. Shoot! He’s going to take me to the Akimichi clan head. Crap. No, no, no, no! That will end well for exactly no one. So I struggle. Hard and sharp, and finally sigh with the knowledge that I’m going to have to do something stupid. Maybe bite the hand that carries me. Or slide out of my clothes or, ah, bribe.

What the heck does a four year old have to bribe an adult?

“Put me down, put me down, _putmedown_ !” I snarl quietly, not wanting to bring the whole of the street down on us. Yet. “Don’t do it, don’t do it, _don’tdoit_!”

Crap. Darn. Heck. _Feck_.

I flop over his arm, resigned because I can’t even wiggle enough to twist, much less loosen my layers. I can’t reach anything to bite. I don’t want the word getting back about me at all. So.

“I’ll bribe you. Let me bribe you,” I beg, voice low.

The man stops for a moment, turning his head down to look at me. That is real mirth in his eyes and I like it, but not nearly enough to put up with a clan head wife that does not want me. “What does a brat like you have to offer me, Hime?”

Ah. Back to that. Suffix removed. “Well, I can cook. Or bake. Or steam. Or fry. I make dog friendly treats? I would like to see the other side of ten?”

He seems mildly uncomfortable with my dispirited tone, as if he’s squirming on the inside. It does not, in any way, stop him from strutting his way to the Akimichi clan holdings and right up to the clan head’s house. The Head himself is out killing people for his military dictatorship, so it is his wife that is in charge. Who has been for the better part of two years. I try very hard to avoid her.

She does not, in any way, like me.

She doesn’t like my mother much either, but that can be excused since mother had been a bride candidate too. Maybe. Political marriages are such a pain in the butt. She doesn’t suit the Head at all, really, and I doubt there are many good feelings in that sham.

“Maa, Akimichi-hime,” Sakumo murmurs, putting my purchases down on the porch before stepping closer to the round faced woman. “I found one of yours.”

He presents me like a puppy, swinging me up and around, hands under my arms and held out. The woman sneers as if something gross has been presented. Yeah well, I think you’re a different kind of bitch, lady. I curl a little into myself, eyes firmly on the tatami mats and wood grain. I do not try and make eye contact with my (distant) cousins because I know I will be ignored. I am not wanted here.

I am eventually lowered, tucked into his side with one arm as his disarming smile becomes a bit more forced. “Maa, Akimichi-hime, the little one here seems to not be getting the right food. I know the kid shops-“

“Thank you, Hatake-san. I shall take it from here.”

She gestures to one of her closest underlings, her younger sister even, to take me from Sakumo’s arms. The young woman does so without hesitation, barely willing to touch me before all but dropping me to the flooring. I land on my feet from experience and a better ability to balance in this life than in the last. Small mercies. Straightening up, I watch the older man give a long, blank look at the scene before stepping away, grabbing my shopping, and leaving.

I keep my eyes down. This is going to be unpleasant, I know already.

“Kusako, fetch the strap.”

I don’t flinch, but it’s a near thing. Unpleasant just downgraded to painful humiliation of a four year old. How... fun.

.•*•.

 

Little more than an hour later and I am finally trudging home, stumbling more than walking, my back and thighs and bum on _fire_. There will be bruising once the inflammation dies down and there will be welts across the front of my legs and stomach for the next three days. This isn’t my first beating, nor will it be my last. I exist, therefore I am taught often that I mean nothing.

Thankfully, I am an adult in a child’s body or I may have been tempted to just run away or end it. Instead, I’m just very stubborn and fierce about staying alive. It also allows me to build up an unreal pain tolerance, huzzah.

“You did not tell me that your clan head’s _wife_ would beat you,” comes the accusing tones of a very angry, very blank Hatake. I snort.

“You assumed a half breed would be welcome, old man.” I look at the shoji screens of my... well, my mother’s house, anyway, to the long trek still to go, then up at the very long-legged man. I would ask him to lift me, but I am more _bruise_ than flesh at the moment. It’s still tempting.

He sees me looking, of course he does, and sighs. “I can carry you.”

I wince a bit. Just, I know it would be worth it later, but right now I hurt badly enough that the mere idea makes me cringe. “Ah...” I look up at the sky through my bangs so my neck doesn’t scrunch up against my shoulders or back. “I am not sure how you would.”

If possible, he goes even more lethally angry, a low rumble building in his ribs and rattling around like thunder. I pat his leg where my hand doesn’t have to reach too high, shuffling like a geriatric. It pulls at the skin of my back, my shoulders, the sides of my chest down to the stripes on my belly and I grimace. Fecking just... remember, self, that you are damaged right now. Sighing softly, I continue my crawling pace, all but whimpering when ten minutes has passed and I am now at the steps. I don’t think I can handle that right now. Maybe tomorrow. Or a week later. Maybe never. Never sounds good.

A large arm is held in front of my face. “Grab on and I’ll lift you.”

I grit my teeth, pushing my arms up and latching on with a low whine. I am, very easily mind, lifted from ground to the open front walkway, the storm shutters stored away with the pressure of summer on. The moment my feet touch wood again, I let go and stand very still, just breathing. Very lightly breathing.

The man walks by, strips off his sandals, takes the basket beyond the genkan, then comes back to kneel before me. Large palms are wiping my face of tears gently, one hand coming around to take my hair and something from his pocket to pile it upon my head to keep the rope from flaying my body with its weight. Said large hands tug my sandals off and sits them beside his own.

“Where can I pick you up?”

I sigh, closing my eyes as one warm palm presses to my cheek. “Arms. Calves. Knees. Elbows.” I can’t list more because everything else is screaming in a dull way. “Maybe stomach, possibly my chest.”

I feel the air condense before releasing, as if the very atmosphere took a gasping breath in affront. I sway a moment before there is another shift of air, the small pop causing me to look. Sakumo has made a clone, one that salutes before stalking off. The Sakumo in front of me is softer, gentle as he lifts me by ankle and arm, pulling me in to his chest so that my weight settles on the front of my body and my feet in his palm. I smile a little, pressing nose to his neck to breathe in the warm scent of male, dog, ozone, and green growing things—possibly a low key scented soap?

Snuggling closer because he allows it, I sigh happily. I miss touch, cuddles and pokes and growling as my siblings and I tussle like heathens in the yard. That was _before_ , though, and this is _now_. I am an only child and I hate every lonely moment of it. Tender fingers pet my arm, my neck and cheek, a line drawn across my brow. I practically puddle up, knees going to jelly. Thankfully by this time, he’s sitting, leaning back so that I am a sprawled, limp rag on a reclined surface. I am grateful in a distant way and somewhat bewildered fashion when my mind can fixate on anything more than numbing pain and a low thrumming hum beneath my ear.

I blink. Then again, slower. I hiss, large hands peeling my yukata down, exposing the welts and stripes of bloody flesh, raw and burning. Yet exhaustion beats the need to keep my awareness, the feeling of safety for the first time in so long pulling a pitchy little croon from my throat. Not a purr or thrum, but close enough.

The sound startles Sakumo enough to jar me and I mewl with a stripe of raw agony lancing down my spine. He shushes me and I am willing, huddling into his throat, against his torso like a puppy. He pets my arm, my cheek, the barest of touches to my side, down my calf and around my ankle. It is relieving, comforting, something in my chest relaxing the more he gently, patiently touches me in such a comforting way. I sigh deeply, crooning again. Safe, warm, cuddles. What more could I want?

I do not even realize I fall asleep until I wake with a jolt still on his chest, more than one set of hands untying my obi, peeling my ruined yukata from my back and baring my fundoshi clad backside. I flinch, cotton sticking to the clotting blood in strips, teeth gritting as I choke on a whine that isn’t wholly human. The chest beneath me rumbles in a comforting way, lips placing a tender kiss to the top of my head.

“Shhh, little Hime,” is the deeper, low boom of thunder masquerading as a human voice under my ear, stark emotion curling the words more darkly. I curl my fingers into his shirt, jounin blue and average in this village. The hands on my back are not his, not Sakumo’s thicker, hot hands, but slender and cool and tender as butterfly wings against my wounds.

“... The clan head’s _wife_ did this?” is snarled on a sibilant hiss of words. Then the words I know and words I do not shake hands on the tongue of someone cursing foully, the air most probably turning blue. It takes a while for it to wind down, the figure behind me peeling my yukata off entirely. The state of my thighs is taken in with a low growl from below and a hissing snap from above. “You should have brought Tsunade.”

“Yes well,” is stated drolly after a pause. “She’s currently ‘out of reach’ as it were, Maru-tan.”

The low sigh is answer enough even as the sounds of moving water and then dripping streams fill the temporary silence. A cool cloth lays over my back, my mouth opening on a muffled cry as I bury my face into the muscled shoulder of the White Wolf of Konoha. It stings, burning raw nerves harshly. I flinch and clench my fists, stretching the fabric in their grip out of shape. Teeth clench as I tense, tears pricking my eyes. I’m not... used to being beat for no reason, exactly, but I kind of guess I am at the same time.

This doesn’t go unnoticed.

“This isn’t the first time, is it,” states the softer voice above me, less a question, more a verbal affirmation of already probable expectation. “I see scarring.”

I sigh, the cool cloth suddenly making the pain numb across my shoulders and down to my waist. The cloth is removed, dipped, wrung, and placed from my hips to my knees. The stinging isn’t as intense, probably because I’m expecting it this time. It takes a little longer before the numbing kicks in, but I am also pretty sure I have a few flayed bits of flesh straight down to the muscle below. I finally relax, going limp and sprawling on top of my very warm, breathing pillow. My eyes flutter as I yawn, rubbing my nose into the crook of a strong jaw.

Sakumo just pets me, speaking softly as I thrum and croon somewhere between and canine and feline sound of contentment. The two adults murmur and throw around vocabulary I’m not able to grasp as I doze comfortably, long, hot hands constantly stroking and petting. There are little tugs against my back and a warmth curling over and through abused muscles. I almost drift back to sleep... but my belly roars loud and clear—I have already missed breakfast and lunch is fast approaching.

Lifting my head just enough to thump it back down, I whine. Seeing as I am hungry, hurting, and tired already for the day, I give myself a pass at acting like the four year old I am physically. I grouse nonverbally, not motivated enough to move. Not motivated enough to seek succor despite the fact my belly button is rubbing a blister on my backbone from emptiness.

A low curse is all the warning I’m given before I’m held up like a puppy once again, my face in Sakumo’s as he stares at me pointedly, looking for something. I must be missing it because he curses again. “Maru-tan, go request some Akimichi grade supplements and light recovery foodstuffs from the canteen.”

“Of course, _Momo-chan_. Whatever you say,” is sassed coolly. “I haven’t finished, you realize.”

Ooooh, what sarcasm. Such a big mood. The white-haired wolfman actually pouts, big buttery lip and soulful eyes. What a ham. Snorting, I hang limp and tired, big hands tucked under my arms but spread to keep out of contact with my back. As I’m in just my fundoshi, this should be awkward. My definition of awkward includes 70+ teenagers having to change on a school bus that’s running 70mph down the interstate with instruments, bags, and glitter taking up the rest of the space.

(No one talks about the Glitter Episode where one jerk _opened a window_ while we were cruising and wind blasting the open glitter case. Everyone suffered through glitter that day. Every. Single. One. The band director had to take some time to go breathe by himself before he lost his formidable, well deserved temper in a tantrum. As a tall, well built adult with children of his own, he was no stranger to glitter. But it was on his leather bomber jacket and no one messed with the real leather jacket without a Last Will & Testament in place.)

Anyway.

Back to now, not then.

Oh, sweet merciful heavens, I am so _tired_.

“Did you know I can request the same thing at a restaurant and be denied? Because Akimichi-san has not claimed me in the stead of Akimichi-dono?” I offer tiredly and without direction as my voice slurs in my uncensored state, letting my head droop to my shoulder. My hair is heavy and it is making my temples pound because stress, yes, and pain is _exhausting_. I don’t even remember closing my eyes because I can only hear short bursts of breath and probably would be witness a lot of lip reading if I wasn’t dead on my feet. Well, for a given ‘on on my feet’ at this point.

There is a low rumble, a sharp snap of teeth. A shivery chuckle that evokes the images of eldritch terror made manifest. Wow, these two are absolutely _terrifying_ , sweet mother of pearl. I should probably be too, but I don’t think I am in a place to care at all right now. Before too long, arms are sliding along my sides, long cool fingers grasping a long linen roll, wrapping me from shoulder to hip. There is a low discussion above my head and I try to concentrate to little avail. It seems moot as my thighs are parted and linen is wrapped first around one leg, then the other. I feel like a mummy strapped and swaddled like this.

But I don’t hurt… so, you know, benefits.

The moment I am cocooned in a larger, softer cloth, my face is pressed into a long neck, my body held again to Sakumo’s firm chest. I sigh low and soft, breathing in his dog-ozone-growth smell. It’s like coming home and realizing all at once how much you _missed it_ . I make a sound I am unable to hear over the pressure of my blood filling my ears in a rush as I wiggle closer and just _breathe_. Eyes closed, body swaddled, I drift into a deep sleep for the first time in a very long time.

 

_“Maru-tan, hurry! His fever is climbing…”_

 

_“I’m trying, dammit!”_

 

_“He needs chakra-” “You don't think I know that?”_

 

_“Oh… that’s not right.”_

 

I wake in a shivering mess, curled in on myself as heat thrums so hot in my veins it makes me cold. Sakumo is sitting a little stunned to the side, eyes wide as he looks at me. _Orochi-feckin’-maru_ is a few feet further to my left, bowled over and gasping. His eyes are just as wide and he seems to be too shocked to speak. I feel my teeth chatter.

“S-Sorry,” I whisper on a stuttering breath. “But you c-can’t d-d-do tha-that.”

Chakra is a big alarm word in this house. Mainly because I can’t control what mine does. Or eats.

This doesn’t seem to stop Sakumo long, though, the man setting his face in a stern expression similar to a frown as he gets up. I don’t exactly jump into his arms, curling tighter, knees to the floor, hands over my bowed head. I don’t see his face soften as I prepare for anything to happen. Letting out a long breath that isn’t quite a sigh, the man kneels before me, large hot hand cupping my crown. “Hime-“ he seems to think about the nickname before shrugging. I had not said anything and he seems to not care, so he sticks with it. “Hime, why didn’t you say?”

I shrug very slowly. Not like I want to talk about it. Bad enough that I do it at all, on purpose or not.

“Hime,” he utters softly, tugging on my arms to pull them away. I sit up because I have no other choice. “Talk to me. What can I do?”

I look up, finally, seeing understanding and comfort. I can’t help that I start crying, actual bawling with runny nose and ugly sobbing included. I’m gathered gently into his arms, pressed against his chest, my world filling with ozone and dog and growing smells. I don’t get to see the panicked look he throws his younger friend.

The snake man blinks, shock still apparent but fading as a calculated gleam enters his eyes. Sakumo rolls his own in response, Orochimaru conceding an easy defeat for the moment to let it go.

“I would say pat their back…” he starts, voice a light kind of teasing. “But we have a bit of a problem.”

“No, really,” the wolf man mutters, my ears catching his sarcasm as I wind down, too exhausted for a good marathon emotional outpouring. “Come on, Hime. Tell me. What can I do?”

I lean back, grimacing at the snot on my face. A swath of bandages is brandished by pianist fingers, Orochimaru looking uncomfortable being nice. I thank him as I take the whole thing and turn my head to blow. Ugh, gross. I hate blowing my nose with people in the room. It’s so rude.

Then… well, I have to say something for Sakumo. What do I say? “I don’t know. Just… don’t try that again?” I shrug, again, extra slowly. “I don’t know what you want from me, I’m _four_ . I can’t even _read_.”

And doesn’t that throw them both for a loop. I tilt my head. “In case you seem to have forgotten, I am an unwanted burden for one family and a figment of the imagination to the other. I do not exist in either. Ergo, I have not been taught.”

The calculating looks are enough to raise my hackles. The look I give is unimpressed. One seems to be smiling for no good reason and a Bad Feeling curls up in my empty belly. The other? Too contemplative by half. I open my mouth to say “uh, _heck no_ ” but my tummy roars with its hunger. The two put their thoughts on hold.

“Food for Hime,” chirps the meddlesome grandpa-haired dork that has me tucked close. Orochimaru snorts and stands.

“Oh, wonderful. Now you really do have a cub. This is going to be a wreck.”

Sakumo snips back which in turn has Oro reply in kind. I can’t stop the low giggle, missing their conspiring glances. For such a crap start, the day isn’t that bad after all.

.•*•.

 

It is four days later, after _freaking Orochimaru_ , all baby-faced and weirdly soft, comes back from a mission with sticks in his hair and mud in his boots that my rhythm changes pretty permanently. For some odd and unknown reason, I have a Snake Summoner on the porch. With him is a snarling, equally bedraggled Jiraiya, only he has mud up to his waist and enough brambles in his hair to qualify as a health hazard or a hornet’s nest. What… the actual… feck?

“... what?”

The brunet glares down at the boards as he gestures to his hair. Which, after looking at my own, _fair_. Tsunade must have taken care of herself and left them to rot. I frown at such a display of a crack in the team. Jiraiya is too busy being a brooding Batman to do more than shake his hair as if hoping the filth would just fall out. Good lord, has no one taught them how to fix their hair?

I think about this for a moment and come to the conclusion that this is probably someone’s plot to try and make them _cut it._ Blasphemy.

“Disrobe,” I state, walking away. I should have a few of mother’s leftover yukatas for them to use somewhere. “I’ll be right back and then we’ll see about that hair.”

I do find them, wrapped in tissue in her closet that I refuse to touch. They don’t even really smell of anything other than disuse and dust. I sneeze shaking out light purple one with fine white orchids along the bottom. The gray with darker silver and black cranes swooping across the hem would be nice, too. Both are feminine, _of course_ , but are less likely to have the two turn up their noses at than a pink and green or white and pink yukata. Or that deplorable orange one. I fold it back up and take the two that aren’t pure eye-strain and find that both Orochimaru and Jiraiya are down to fundoshi in the genkan, the door slid closed.

“Here,” I murmur, handing Oro his first. He smiles at the purple and I grin a little. Like this, he isn’t the anti-Christ or a mad, immortal seeking demon. “I think purple suits you, Oji-kun. And you, Rōjin-san, get the gray.”

Orochimaru bursts out laughing, having to stop with his arms halfway through the sleeves even as Jiraiya pouts. What a couple of goofs. “Come on, I have a lot of hair to work with and I need to start now if I want to have supper on the table before eight tonight.”

Catching his breath, the brunet is quick to step alongside me, tying the yukata closed with the thin obi that I left with it. A moment later, griping about and disparaging my character and all its flaws, the ivory haired man catches up, chest hanging out of the yukata like this was a bathhouse with red lanterns rather than my house. I roll my eyes, directing them to grab towels in the linen closet then to the bathing room.

“I’ll be right back, let me grab some oil.”

Hopefully, they will take time to disrobe and wrap in their towels before I make it back. One could hope, I suppose, rattling through a low cupboard for the large gallon jug of olive oil I possessed. Good for hair, for skin, for the body in general, it had taken a bit of work to find someone (through Honda-san) who could get pure oil and not something usually found on the shelf that was a mixed batch. From the state of their hair, the maddening duo of nin should be glad it wasn’t cement. I keep a comb in the bathing room and a basin for my hair. Taking a chopstick, I twirl my braid up and around, pinning it in place before I drag the jar down the hall.

“Con- _founded,_ slag-laden _varmit_ ,” I hiss, struggling. I am almost to the door! I can do this! But a gallon of thick, heavy oil is hard to move as an adult; as a four year old, I’m lucky to have gotten it this far. “C-come on, just a little. Bit. More!”

I pull as hard a I can before I screech, my body becoming weightless as I hang off the handle. I look up into the amused eyes of the white-haired menace, the second jug handle in one hand as he holds it and me up like a sack of feathers, no strain whatsoever. Shinobi and their augmented strength can _bite me_. Sticking my tongue out at him, and him reciprocating, I kick my feet.

“Either put me down or take me inside, but don’t leave me hanging like this!”

He chuckles, toting myself and the jug through the door and towards the set of stools for a house this size. Oro-oji who I have more or less adopted because I do that still, apparently, is on one of said stools with a scowl over his literal pretty face. Once my feet touch the ground, I let go of the jug and totter over. I see why he scowls because that… that is _sap_. Hideous to get on your clothes, but in your hair? Ugh!

“Okay, what were you even doing, no I’m not actually asking, that was rhetorical, Rōjin-san,” I chatter on, having seen his mouth open and his brows rise. “I have no interest in your insanity, thank you. I am _civilian_ and would like to stay that way if only for my common sense. But your _hair_.”

Grabbing a large basin, I turn on the hot faucet and sigh when it actually comes out hot. This isn’t always the case and I thank my father of another life for teaching me household repairs from such a young age. I have had to crawl beneath the house more than once to replace or tape deliberately cut pipes before. It’s a hassle and my hair needs no help gathering dust and dirt.

“I do want to know what Oro-oji is doing here. We did only meet once,” I murmur, getting Jiraiya to set the oil in the basin of steaming water. It would heat up and make combing through their mess of hair a million times easier. “And Momo-oji is off doing his madness thing. Honestly, courting a lady does not mean you allow her to cut pieces out of your skin for funsies. That is just not sensible _at all_.”

The ivory-haired menace makes a sound of amusement and I cast my eyes over him. He has a few tender looking places, but the scarring is not anywhere near what it probably should be. Huzzah for being on a team with a medic. Orochimaru is also with some strangely pink scars that would soon fade to silver like the others I can see, his much smaller and less accumulated than the absolute tank his teammate acts like. Tsunade herself is probably a tank, so he probably stands in as the auxiliary. Strangely sensible. Then again, I may have that set up differently in my head because I think sensibly. They might all be tanks or have two alternating auxiliary members. Who knows, _not me_.

“... I wanted to check on you.”

Oh, wut.

Blinking at the ebon-haired man, I can’t find my words. I open my mouth at least twice before huffing. I’m four, I’m also thirty-four. I can’t words too often for this to be good for my health.

“But _why_?”

He looks pained at that for some reason and Jiraiya even seems to become concerned. I roll my eyes at both of them, shuffling out the door the kitchen to grab a bowl to pour oil in. It takes only a moment before I’m back and they sit like little perfect angels and I know better than the average person. That meant they had been conspiring. I have not… or, well, _had_ not raised teens without learning to despise the quiet. They were either into something they shouldn’t be or missing.

“You two are not fooling anyone, stop being so weird right now,” I hiss, directing Oro to pour some oil into the bowl. “Thank you. Now turn around. Yes, I know, back to me but I’m itty bitty and Rōjin-san is right there. What am I gonna do anyway, cute this gorgeous hair? Let me say this in such a way you’ll understand: _Heck. No._ What blasphemy.”

Jiraiya guffaws even as Oro-oji chuckles, low and warm. He does turn, putting his back to me, slim and pretty and so few scars. I sigh and I start at the bottom, dipping my hands into the oil and then sliding them through the tangles as tenderly as I can. I scowl as I rub out the worst bits which look like bits of brain matter and bone chips in tree sap and I try very hard not to think about it. So gross. So, instead, I start to hum softly, the song something that I never have to think too hard on, mostly instrumental but with enough heart rending lyrics to make me want to play on repeat for hours on end. I work for long minutes, his hair starting to gleam and part with ease as I work my way up.

“What are you singing?”

I didn’t realize I was. I swallow my words, keeping my eyes on the long ebony hair and try to come up with an answer that Jiraiya will accept because I know he asked me to keep me unbalanced, so that if I became angry, it wouldn’t be at Orochimaru. Clever, ridiculous ninja. I know the song, entirely in _English_. We speak an older style of Japanese. There isn’t much to tell them because so far as I am aware, English does not exist here at all.

And I am a _terrible_ liar.

“I don’t want to say,” I mutter instead, not looking up from my task. Nope, no, non. I do not want to say anything. What would I even say? This isn’t my first life, I just didn’t get properly scrubbed of my previous life, oops, my bad? I even play out a response in my head. _You either will believe me and will put me in a cage, gilded bars and all, or I’ll be experimented on or I’ll be disbelieved and still put in a cage with padded walls and no sense of sense ever after, ta-dah, your humanity means nothing to us._ “Comb please.”

I’m handed the comb, but Jiraiya doesn’t let go and I frown as I look at him. He sighs, letting the comb go as I start at the crown and slide the wide side down the length, oil dripping to the tiles. Again and again and until I feel no resistance, then I switch to the the side with closer tines. I start humming again, the words coming from my lips without any effort, as much under my breath as I can make them and still not sound like a croak.

“ _I am not my own_

_For I have been made new_

_Please don’t let me go_

_I desperately need you..._ ”

I close my eyes as I think of everything up to now. It’s not so lonely right now but, as before, it will be again. They will leave and I will be here by myself again. It almost hurts worse this way, but I know I need the interaction. I’m literally, mentally and emotionally, one step away from just breaking down, giving up. Humans are aggressively social and even my introverted little heart isn’t capable of living entirely by itself.

I have never liked being alone.

Wrapping long strands of hair up, I carefully knot it and let it sit. I turn to the Frog Hermit and push the bowl over with my barefoot. He obligingly pours more oil and turns. I do the same to him, feeling myself calm as I take care of him. I love human interaction and, while it’s not hugs and kisses and close cuddles on piles of pillows, it is actual factual human contact. I relax into it, my voice humming out in an almost mournful tune. It’s beautiful to think about the song, a revelation, but it still leaves me wanting what I have been so terribly denied in this life so far. I need and I cannot fulfill it by myself and outside of a few vendors, I am avoided by most of the people I would associate with and children are freaked out by me because children are stupidly perceptive.

It takes longer with Jiraiya’s hair, his with actual curling waves. The anime did not do his hair justice or he just didn’t know how to take care of it. Probably both because there is no way anyone has captured just how pretty Orochimaru is. How unbelievably _pretty_ Sakumo is because he is Asian Pop-Star pretty, okay? Jiraiya is handsome in a more rugged, masculine way and while that’s cool, cool, you do you… He needs to take care of himself and his hair.

Finally finishing combing through the strands from root to tip, I tie his hair up and then turn back to the ebon haired man only to meet golden eyes. Animalistic with human intellect. It should freak me out, but I have looked in the mirror so often that I stopped flinching on principal. It’s hard to know yourself, try and make peace with yourself, if you can’t even get over your own eyes.

“Hime-chan,” he says, soothing and rolling in an almost warmth. “Hime-chan, what’s _wrong_?”

His thumb comes up and rubs at my cheek, coming away wet. Oh. I have been crying? I blink at that before feeling my lips tug at the edges. I take a deep shaky breath in and ignore the ache in my chest.

“I don’t know anymore,” I whisper and hurry to dump the oil into a bucket just for this purpose. I try and compose myself, feeling successful when I can breathe without a hitch in my lungs, like I was hiccuping. “But you need to wash your hair now and then dry it, okay? Can you manage that?”

He doesn’t say much and I cannot see with my back to him, but I can practically feel the bafflement and concern like a cloud overhead. He finally sighs.

“Of course, Hime-chan. We can manage for now. Thank you for your hospitality.”

I don’t say much as I flee.

.•*•.

 

I am elbow deep in veggies for supper when a large, cool hand covers mine. I have been crying and my face is blotchy and my eyes red and now my nose is kind of stuffy and I do _not_ want to _talk about it_. Not yet. So I keep turned away, face down.

“Oh Hime,” is crooned as I’m cuddled into, a long curtain of ebon hair shrouding me from the outside world. The man behind me smells of the soft lavender and vanilla of my bath oils, his hair so soft it is like silk.

I press back, my face tilting up as I turn my head to take him in. He smells of cucumbers and earth under the oils and I smile slightly. Copperheads smell like cucumbers near their dens and that is strangely appropriate. It hurts a little, my heart clenching but my body going soft and loose in the loop of his arms. Sakumo must have told him some things because so few people would indulge such an animalistic urge like mine.

I just don’t know which animal to draw on because I am Akimichi and Nara and while the Nara have _deer_ , I in fact do not _act_ like a deer. More feline or canine, actually. Weird.

“Come on,” calls a gruff voice, the moment of peace breaking down with Jiraiya tromping into the room like an old bear rather than the toad he was. “I’m hungry!”

I lean around Oro-oji and brandish my knife. “You will not be rude or you will leee—oh wow, your hair.” I am easily distracted. “Can I please braid it? Please, please, _please_?”

But… his _hair_ . It’s long enough to hit the back of his knees already and it is a wild array of half curls that are all volume. It’s ridiculously pretty and I want to make the prettiest, most badass braids I can with it. While leaving it usable for his porcupine technique hair thing. He just stares for a moment for rolling his eyes and shrugging at me. It is so weird having him in my kitchen. Even weirder than Sakumo. Or Orochimaru. I’m not complaining, but… _weird_. Oro-oji just chuckles, nudging me to continue on and I snuggle back into him for a moment, glad my back isn’t just a stripe of bruising and scabs. I have had Akimichi supplements since he and Sakumo had gotten them for me and I have had the energy and vitality to do more than sit and watch the day go by or gasp my way through a bit of Yoga and Tai Chi.

That meant my healing kicked up into high gear and I had progressed from four weeks to little under a week to actually heal properly. Or, well, mostly heal. It still twinged and kind of ached, but now it was a low burn that was easy to ignore.

So I go back to cooking, chopping vegetables with a calm certainty that I learned at the knee of my father and my granma. I dump them all into a pot with water, pouring salt into my hand to measure before dropping that in too. Burner lit and lid on, I turn to the meat. My beef is getting too old to hold to and the pork isn’t much better, so I make cubes of the thick slabs of meat to drop into the boiling water after rubbing them both in a premixed bag of seasonings. Ta-dah, meal mix. Smiling to myself as Oro-oji continues to cuddle me, I thrum.

I don’t see the startled look on Jiraiya’s face or the oddly pensive one on Orochimaru’s, but I feel when he holds me just a little tighter. I sigh, happy to bask in a physical connection with someone warm and tender.

“Mm, let up? I need to drop the meat in so they’ll cook properly.” He does, letting me lean forward and rake the two large piles into the bubbling water, the broth of veggies welcoming the real flavor. “There we go. Leave that for about thirty minutes and we’ll have a meal. Now,” I look around Oro-oji. “I want at your hair.”

The ivory haired man just sighed as he settled further into his cushion. I’ll take that as permission.

.•*•.

 

Contrary to popular belief, Jiraiya is terrible with human interactions. Sure, he can fake it but he can’t make it. Schmoozing girls is literally all he can do and, even then, not well. I settle in front of him and he keeps trying to think of something to say that isn’t ninja-related and he flounders and defaults to flirting which makes him make a face and me laugh until I have to stop braiding from shaking too hard.

“You don’t know what to _do_ with a human you don’t fight with, have sex with, or have to kill, do you?” I tease warmly, a smile on my lips. I continue with the small micro-braiding at the sideburns, the length phenomenal. The shortest one hangs below his pectoral and has a heavy glass bead. I know he’ll most likely remove it the moment he can, but I am having _fun_. “What will you do when your godson is brought into the world, hm? Lob him at the godmother and hope you never have to handle a child?”

He jerks. “Don’t _joke_ about that! Kami! Just… A kid? What do you do with a kid?!”

I pointedly pull on his hair. “I know I am not exactly _normal_ , but usually you let them play with you, treat them like the people they are and guide them. Children in general don’t understand what it is to _be_ a person, an individual among others, until they are five or six. Most children don’t understand what it is to be a fully culpable person until they’re eleven. Maybe twelve. But, you know, _puberty_. That happens too.”

He shudders and I laugh at that too. Ridiculous man. Done with the micros around his face, I toddle around to the back and look at him. I need a stool. Grabbing one, I stand behind him shortly (...what a _pun_ ) and pull the hair from around his face. I need a clip. All I have are his hands.

“Hand up, I need you to hold this while I start on the sides.”

And his hand goes up, hesitant but seeing as Orochimaru is admiring what he sees so far, Jiraiya allows me to order him around. I start with a thin braid like a Fulani, sweeping it around in a wave and holding my hand out for a bead since elastic hair ties don’t exist just yet. Joy. Making do is what I do. The braid stops before the middle which isn’t normal, but I’m not putting tiny braids in his hair all day. Not. Doing. That. Then I do a second one and top it off. Above them, from his temple back, I make a fuller braid, sometimes referred to as a Goddess braid and hold it. I want a thick Dutch braid down the center to stop right at his ears, but how do I make this particular braid stay until I finish the other side? Long slender fingers flex over where I have left my hand hovering and I cede the braid to Oro-oji.

Kissing the head of the man letting me play, I barely think about it as I start on the other side, comparing as I start on the first Fulani braid. It’s more difficult because I have put a wave in it, but worth it. The second goes a little faster and the Goddess even faster. Having Oro stand over me and hold the two thicker braids, I start on the Dutch braid, tucking the Goddess and Fulani into the end before finally tying off the tail with a ninja grade hair tie that isn’t elastic at all but feels like a chain wrapped in cotton. I don’t tie a bow but I do make a slip knot.

Ta-dah!

Settling back and satisfied with my braiding, I smile. “All done! And… Oh, you turned the stew off. Um. Thank you, Oji-kun.”

The man chuckles as he steps away enough for me to hop off my stool. I hug his legs for a moment before gathering my stool and the beads and drop one in the pantry and the other in a Mess Drawer because I am a lazy, _lazy_ child and refuse to walk back through the house just to put them back where they actually go. Looking at the gathered bowls, I realize something. Orochimaru rummaged in my kitchen to find things. Well, two things. I am comfortable with a man that may or may not later on start a bid for immortality. Comfortable enough that I do not track him like I honestly probably should.

I have zero survival instincts when I adopt people into my family circle.

On the bright side, Jiraiya now looks like a long-haired viking warrior.

Smiling to myself as Oji dishes out the soup, I look at him and his pretty, pretty hair. I love how it drapes. Maybe I can work with that.

But later. Right now, I get to bask in him as he comes and actually settles me in his lap to eat and I get to snuggle while I eat. I thrum and rumble in equal measures, falling asleep before I know what’s up.

Feck. I love him.


	2. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to round out the characterizations. It’ll pick up soon.

Come morning, I am awakened by an awkwardly tossed arm that smacks against my back. I hiss, a low thrumming rumble of displeasure curling up my throat. The arm stiffens even as the much cooler arm around my waist tightens a fraction. I am on Orochimaru and, haha, I count him as _mine_ , this is apparently how my life will be now.

Holy crap, I count Orochimaru as one of mine.

I think about it, ponder it, then shrug because he is so… young, baby-faced and soft in all the weird ways that shouldn’t work, he’s a literal snake. I still think he’s too adorable to actually be a vicious murdering sociopathic nightmare. What did Danzo do to him? How did he get so _warped_ just a few years from now?

…

Heck if I know!

I’m too tired for these questions! So I grumble and squirm out of the pile. They aren’t asleep, I can just tell, but they are relaxed.

“Try to sleep some more,” I yawn, rubbing one eye. “I have to eat something before I eat you.”

Jiraiya chuckles, a low throaty sound that if I had been in puberty would make me sit up because that is a sound of sin. Instead, it warms my chest, a smile blooming on my lips. Leaning down to kiss first his brow then Oro-oji’s, I trot off. I need food and supplements. I am more stable after only four days, but I do not want to see what happens if I miss the extra boost of chakra.

Yawning again as I stagger a little with my eyes closed and my ability to balance compromised, I make it to the kitchen to find a bleary-eyed Sakumo there, pouting. I wander to him, crawling in his lap to hug him and breathe him in. He isn’t the cleanest, but there is very little blood and all of it his.

“You did a thing,” I say, pressing my nose into his neck. It is faint but there is a feminine scent entwined with his. “Someone got lucky.”

He jolts, pushing me back, eyes wide and completely awake now. He is pale. I grin and giggle like the little brat I am.

“ _Hime_ , no! Where have you learned such things?!” He is so scandalized sounding and the look on his face! I gleefully cackle. “You are a _small child_ , oh kamisama, _what_?”

I can’t breathe. I’m laughing so hard I’m in the range of dogs being one of the few to hear me and I’m breathless because I can’t stop spasming long enough to get a full breath. The man seems to freak out stoically, eyes gradually getting wider until I sputter and choke. Then he flails for a minute, almost acting afraid to touch me and, duh, I was flayed open five or so days ago, so of course he is. I catch my breath by very carefully closing my eyes and forcing myself to take deep inhales and counting the exhales. Okay, good good.

I valiantly do not look directly at Sakumo once I do open my eyes, lips trembling with the want to keep laughing.

“Okaaaay,” I manage. “F-food. I need food.”

Sliding from his lap, I stare at the floor, shoulders shaking as I bite my lip. Oh gracious, I’m going to asphyxiate from laughter. But what a way to go.

Better than last time.

( _Did I even die?_ )

( _Welp, not laughing now._ )

Clearing my throat a few times (and pointedly _not thinking about it_ ) I get to the refrigerator and peer through all the fruits and veggies left. Not that much. Frowning, I take a tomato, biting into the sweet flesh, the skin parting easily under my sharper than usual teeth. It will tide me over until I can shop a little. I feel the seeds, teeming with a possible life and close my eyes, feeling my body pull the energy from them, swallowing up the chakra greedily. It’s a weird feeling, in all honesty, and it’s terrifying to feel a yawning hunger under your skin, in your belly that food cannot fill and that only the life of something can tempt.

But, hey, my life. No use screaming about it until I can find a solution. Swallowing my bite, I take another, popping open my chakra supplements. Two dropping in my palm and I will be good for a few hours. Any less and I will be low key hangry. This does mean I’m getting low pretty fast.

Finishing the tomato, I take one pill and crush it in my back teeth with an ease I am fond of but do not remember from before. I have unreal jaw pressure now. Huzzah. The other I swallow whole, letting it slowly leak out into my chakra as my belly removes the layers. I grab another tomato and close the door, shoving it in my mouth. It’s too large, so it’s just sitting on my teeth and I try not to bite down all the way.

I grab my stool and then a cup for some water from the sink. I frown when I don’t get any flow or even the sound of it in the pipes. Not again. Sighing, I make a mental note to check under the house. Again. Whatever, I need to go shopping.

Grabbing the tomato as I finish my bite, I looked at the again drooping Sakumo. He must be exhausted. “Momo-oji, go sleep with Oro-oji and Yaya-oji. I’ll make something for breakfast and get you all fed up.” He gives a bleary blink. “Go. Bathe. Sleep. Oro-oji and Yaya-oji will let you snuggle. Shoo. Go.”

He blinks again and suddenly Oro is there. I smile as he takes his friend(?) in hand. I watch him steer Sakumo to the bathing room with gentle croons. Gosh. Like this, he’s too adorable. How did he get to be a madman? I feel my smile slip as my brow furrows. Sighing to myself again, I grab my money pouch, rubbing a hand over my crumpled yukata. I need to change before I go anywhere. Going to my room and stepping over the lazily dozing toad, I pull out both my box of yukata and my mother’s. The white with the pink-peach colored peaches (because I love puns and irony) with the brown thin obi is pulled out of her box and I grab a soft green yukata with warm orange and brown and pink print obi for myself.

Dropping the obj and Yukata I had been wearing, I grab a sleeveless shift that falls in a soft cotton wave to my knees. Running my hand over the soft and well worn cloth, I shimmy into my fresh yukata and obi, plucking up the other to air out and unwrinkle. Money pouch tucked flat into my obi, I hurry out with the adult sized clothing to leave in the hall and then out the door after laying my yukata on a futon drying rack. Basket tucked close, I toddle off to see Honda-san.

He smiles at me and I spy a young man that has (more vibrant) coloring similar enough to his (faded) tones to guess this is a grandson. Gathering what I need and passing coin over, the young man carries the basket for me and I graciously thank him and Honda-san. Quickly purchasing what we need for a decent morning meal, I hurry back to the house with Honda-san, the younger, setting the basket on the porch next to the genkan. Bowing, we part ways with him tipped for such generosity of his time.

Not like he would let me feed him, after all.

Setting my purchases in bundles on the counter until I can drag the basket into the genkan, I peer over what I bought.

“What to cook,” I muse, tapping my lip with one almost talon-like nail. I have to make something Sakumo will eat. Jiraiya and Orochimaru (and yes that still makes me a bit dizzy to think of) and myself.

Taking the large pork roast to the counter and rolling it over the lip, I grab my stool. I have flour set up to make tempura batter. It works best with pork when it’s fried but I’m also going to bake some slices. I’m feeding picky eaters. I am _definitely_ used to it and I know have to have a variety to pick out what they might want. Humming, I grab up the beef roast, stumbling under the weight until I can finally push it over my head and beside the pork. Huzzah.

Zucchini and yellow summer squash and Napa cabbage, little green onions and tiny gold potatoes and carrots, peppers (to the disgust of many) and black tomatoes (also to the disgust of many) and even corn (even more disgust and plenty of curiosity). I laugh a little to myself at the memory.

“Ridiculous adults,” I mutter, “unwilling to try.”

Stepping up and grabbing a knife to cut the strings on the meat, I unfold the pork first, reaching for the meat knife as I sit the smaller one to the side. I get lost in the motions of slicing meat, scowling when each slice isn’t quite uniform. Drat. I used to be much better than this. I forget that I can literally growl sometimes and I do so now, startling myself into squeaking. I laugh, shaking my head. I am a mess.

Getting back into the motion, I go a little slower, switching meat then starting on the vegetables in short order. Slice, dice, strip. I forget for a moment that I can’t actually rinse them like I should be able to and sigh with the vegetables in the colander rolling over each other as I thump it down in low key frustration. Blast.

“What is it, Hime,” groans a growly sleep voice and I don’t even hesitate, slinging around with an egg in hand that splats right in his face. I blink, Jiraiya standing there with egg. On his _face_ . How the heck did that… _happen_?! I am _not_ a ninja? My reflexes are cultivated by years as a civilian in a house of mildly aggressive military men. Who liked to prank people. I cover my mouth, unsure if I want to laugh or not.

Because I just nailed Jiraiya in the face with an _egg_.

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” I squeak, suddenly flailing as egg shell tick- _slaps_ the floor wetly. I grab a towel from the rack by the sink, nearly tripping as I come off my stool with speed. “Oh no! I am so sorry! Are you okay?!”

He blinks open one eye that isn't completely slathered in egg and stares at me at his feet, not even at his waist and holding up a dry towel. He takes it silently, wiping his face. I feel so conflicted. I’m four, I am supposed to, I don’t know, be held when conflicted and emotions at this age are hard. I know what they are but that doesn’t stop me from getting overwhelmed. Badly. It is not my fault I burst into tears.

“H-Hime!”

I’m being picked up a little roughly, the strong arms of the man holding me up unused to such situations. I don’t mind, reaching around to cling to the thick neck as I sob into the light gray of the yukata. His hand is butterfly light over my back, obviously aware of my injuries thanks to two blabber mouths. I barely tense before I relax into his hold, sighing. Emotions. Are. Hard.

I eventually calm down, looking at the sink and the food that I need to start on. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I wiggle.

“Down, please,” I mutter with a stuffy nose. The moment I am on my feet, I have a second of overwhelming want and need to be held and never let go that I ruthlessly ignore. Have been ignoring for a while. “I’m sorry.”

A large hand comes down on my head, long (long, long, _long_ ) white hair in soft waving curls sheltering me on one side as the man leans over me. “What for, Hime? For crying?”

I nod and he tosses the towel in his other hand over my head. The one covered in egg. On my hair. Oh no.

“A bit.” I gesture to the sink and ignore that egg is now probably in my hair. Fair is fair. “They cut the water again. Can you get a bowl and fill it from the bath?”

His eyes are clearly asking questions I am not going to answer right now and he nods as he goes. I feel a little better because, for once, I have help. Miracles. Will they ever cease. Probably so I ignore that to look around and reorient my mind. I don’t see Orochimaru or Sakumo so they must still be in the room. At least relaxing if not sleeping. Ninja. They never sleep. But they aren’t sneaking up on me, so kudos to them.

“Here, Hime,” rumbles the white haired giant of a man. Why is everyone I associate with so _tall?_

He is ridiculous. Taller than Sakumo, probably.

I wave the bowl over to the sink. It’s well water, I can use it to rinse, but I’m going to have to boil it for straight drinking until I can get the water fixed. Again. Taking a long breath to not get frustrated with life in general and the fools who keep doing this to me in particular, I grab my stool and start the oil to warming.

“Just pour slowly. I need those rinsed then I can start.” He does, barely pouring half before setting the bowl to the side. I gesture to a fresh towel as I start scooping minced garlic into the oil. “Grab one and pat them gently dry. Water and oil are not fun when cooking.”

And so it goes. Pork is fried. Beef is fried. Oven is turned on and thin(ish) steaks are allowed to bake while I start the oh so fun process of making sauce while keeping an eye on the heat and oil. I start singing a lullaby under my breath as I whisk and turn and check everything again and again.

I am cooking with someone in the house again. It’s… it’s comforting and fun.

I forget myself.

I sing songs that I haven’t forgotten, many of them soft, but enough of them are eyebrow raising. I sing when I’m happy, relaxed. Calm. I sing to fill the silence of a house that should be bustling with life but is not. I croon tender words with someone at my back and whisper fierce declarations when I am (often) ( _always_ ) alone.

Lifting—well, no, _shifting_ the pan now smelling of delicious food off the eye, I turn the knob off and turn to grab bowls and chopsticks only to go still. I would scream but being jump-scared by butthead brothers and cousins for better part of two decades trains a person out of those kind of responses. Now, I throw things.

Like a whisk.

Or a spatula.

Both of which I was holding to move to the sink but now are a sodden mess on the floor. Hand to my chest, I breathe for a moment. Dratted _ninja_.

“Don’t. _Do_. That!” I squeak, heart hammering. “I can _not_ tell who or where you are, dangit!”

Domestic bliss with ninjas apparently includes heart attacks before I reach double digits, who knew. Clearly, not I.

“I am going to die of heart failure before I die of malnutrition,” I grumble low enough that I barely even hear myself. No way they heard that. Huffing, I grab the bowls, a set of four because someone is hoping I will die. Connotations, my dear.

Scooping out the admittedly massive portions, I line them up by the stove. “Chopsticks in the drawer below,” I direct without too much thought. They seem to want to set up shop and I am not going to dissuade them. “If you can find a pair, that is.”

They come closer, Jiraiya first with a little flour on his cheek and a small grin. He grabs at the drawer, brows going up at the mess of chopsticks and only chopsticks in there. I roll my eyes at the raised brows, his face gaining a devious grin. He digs in, grabbing a pair of utensils in less than ten seconds, winking. I snort at him, watching Orochimaru take his place and he, too, find a pair basically instantly. My brow furrows.

How do they do that?!

Sakumo is last, still tired but surprisingly chipper now as he also gets a set with ease and his serving.

They’re too quiet. It’s suspicious.

“Alright, what’s going on?” I asked with a clearly curious (ei: suspicious) tone. “Because you being quiet is the worst possible outcome. Someone either died or you’re plotting something naughty.”

Jiraiya chokes, thumping his chest. Orochimaru blinks and takes a moment to consider if he wants to help his teammate or not (he does eventually with too much force and a stifled glee). Sakumo stills so hard and fast he knocks his bowl into a spin and tries to keep it from upending or toppling off the table. I snort, Moving my stool out of the way of the oven door. The low sizzle of baking meat juices is comforting in familiarity. The steaks should be done enough, I suppose, getting a knife to cut open a pork steak from the side. Ugh, still too pink. Never mind, then.

Grabbing my bowl and a few strips of beef and pork, I settle at the table to gnaw quietly on the meat strips. Animals have chakra even after death, but it does dwindle quickly. Vegetables are where it’s at for me. They retain life far after being plucked or cooked and fill me up more than any meat ever will. I guess if I want to eat a meat and it fill that second hunger, I will have to take living chunks. Ergo, I am _this close_ to saying fudge it and becoming vegetarian.

There are just some things you will not catch me doing.

Hopefully.

(The minute I have to eat a live pig or something is the day when everything comes apart like a leak in a dam. It will only herald worse to come.)

“For a bunch of trained liars, you get jumpy when a child calls you on your ridiculous silence,” I utter, snapping my chopsticks at them. I tap my lip with the fat ends of my chopsticks, debating going back to my cooling bowl or checking the oven again. What can I say, I have a severe eating disorder. Go me. “Whatever.”

I sigh as I stand, snapping up a snow pea to nibble on as I remove the baking meat and turn everything off. Snapping up a platter, I lay out the meat in the center with a bit of precarious balance, one large hand settling on my hip to help me. It’s slender and cool through my yukata and I thank the snake summoner for the assist. Settling back down, I debate on actually eating. Sometimes you get so hungry you _stop_. I could eat or I could go bathe. Eat, bathe. Eat, bathe.

“I shouldn’t be wondering the merits of taking a bath over food,” I grumble into a bite of bean sprouts. Hopefully too low to be heard properly. Staring at the table and contemplating the merits of just eating afterwards, I don’t see the faces of the people above me, Jiraiya incredulous while Orochimaru has to release his chopsticks for fear of snapping them and Sakumo takes a deep breath to count out as his hands shake. The ivory haired man opens his mouth only to snap it shut at the glare of the older wolf.

I do eat, a little at a time. Things with seeds that transition easier for frying. The beans sprouts I have lightly drizzled over top with the sauce. I am mindful of how and what I eat, largely ignoring the bok choy and sliced bamboo. I like them, they taste delicious, but they aren’t going to give me what I need.

“What are you doing?”

I jolt, Sakumo looking at me worriedly. I know what he sees, most probably. A picky eater Akimichi is such a big oxymoron this side of the Elemental Nations, it’s probably used as a joke.

(Several foreign nin sneeze at once.)

(Oops.)

“It tastes good but I need things with seeds.” No lie here. See, I’m doing better. Don’t try and lie to professional liars and thieves. (And murderers, but whatever, I’m too tired to care.) “Like the chakra pellets. Just smaller doses.”

This… does not clear up the confusion. “Hime, what are you talking about? What about the meat?”

I shrug. What does he want, a food itinerary? I’m only just making it work. What more does he want?

“Nature chakra isn’t as filling as chakra of a human or living animal,” I start slowly, thinking on how to phrase this. There is no polite way to say “ _I want your living spiritual blood_ ” without coming off insane or some such. “But I can’t go around gnawing on people and taking a bite out of something living is so far down on my to do list, it is a negative.” I tap my chopsticks to my lips again. “The meat is primarily for you three since I don’t get much out of it besides flavor. It’s dead meat, literally, so it’s kind of like eating cotton candy. Looks filling, is actually not and too much can make you sick.”

There is, of course, another moment of silence before a very strained Jiraiya clears his throat. “Hime, that is _not normal._  What the hell?!”

I shrug. “No idea. I guess when I was starved for the chakra laden food fed to toddler Akimichi, it warped me. I mean, it _sucks_ but what can _I do about it_? This isn’t a reversible process. It’s permanent. So, ya know,” I shrug, “I lived when I shouldn’t. Now I’m a mutant. Huzzah.”

Ignoring the baffled (murderous? Is that _killing intent_?) adults, I drop my chopsticks, officially Not Hungry™️. “Okay, I’m done. I’ll be under the house seeing where they cut the pipes.”

I scamper.

.•*•.

 

Hair tied up in a bandanna and dressed down to an old inner yukata that is (slightly) too small, I am elbows deep in replacing a pipe that has been hacksawed to heck when there is a hand on my arm. I twist and toss something heavy, eyes wide and heart from a pleasant bum-bump to _thiiiiis_ side of a heart attack. Hand to my chest, I squeak into the amused face of Sakumo, the man holding my own saw.

Crap, I did not mean to throw a deadly instrument.

“Quit. Doing. _That_ ,” I wheeze, kicking at the amused man. “I am legitimately going to _die_.”

“Maa, maa, Hime. Am I really so terrible?”

I squint at him in the half dark, glad my vaunted night vision of a (previous? Past?) different life remained. Even had an upgrade. “I am not going to do this with you. I am fixing a pipe that has been sawed to death. Luckily, they know how to turn the water off beforehand now.”

Which had not always been the case. A whole compound, flooded. Sure, it’s the compound set up for those who have lovers or whatever that aren’t part of the clans (those who don’t want to take the clan name and thus undesirable), but it is still a clan issue within _three clans_. Someone is bound to blabber again.

But that is not the issue right now.

“Move, you’re on my pipe.” My ribs, they ache at the mere idea of laying on the white plastic PVC. And I have to say I am stupidly glad that it exists or me repairing things myself would not be happening. “And hand me the glue since you are so handily in my way.”

Wiping the pipe down, lathering on the cement glue, and fitting it into the recently vacated joints, I rock back from my knees to my toes like a squatting toad. Ta-da, done. Give it until I’m topside again and it should do its job.

“To your faaaar right, see that knob?” I say, looking over the pipes. “Turn it on all the way. Let’s see if that’s the only one damaged.”

Sakumo does as bid, eyes more on me than on what he is doing. I turn my face away. Nothing to see here, so sirree, just a wee brat that you really should not concern yourself with. Listening to the rushing hiss of water hitting what amounts to bottled air, I watch the jerking pipes and sigh in relief when they hold without spurting water from somewhere new.

“Come on, old man, I need to wash my hair. Yaya-oji got egg in it and I might as well.”

I shuffle out on toes and hands, knees curling smoothly around like haunches. It is weird to look at but entirely comfortable. Like I have more vertebrae and bendier joints. Like I am a lot less human than I seem. I huff at my thoughts, trying very hard not to be some weirdo pessimist because I have plenty of those to work around now. I do not need to add to the number.

Standing up once beyond the porch, I look back at Momo-oji. He actually is fastidious and has both my saw and my cement. How considerate. He is also crawling along similar to what I look like, well oiled machine on all fours. His eyes even have that eye shine.

Like mine.

Shaking those thoughts away, I take my saw and glue from him and set them in a box all but hidden by a decorative bush. Dropping my bandanna inside as well, I scuttle up the porch and to the bathing room, grabbing towels on the way. Best news, I left my oil in there. Bad news, it’s going to take ages to do by myself, but I already knew this.

Bathing with this hair is an all day affair and it doesn’t help to cut it. Grows too fast. So, I settle in, disrobe quickly, and start unwinding the literal body length braid.

“Let me help,” chirps Momo-oji right behind me and I eep as I chunk my stool at him. He, of course, catches it with a laugh. I snarl at him, feeling my eyes narrow as my vision sharpens. The old wolf blinks for a moment at my bared teeth and rumbling threat before laughing harder and scooping me up. “Ah, Hime! You’re so cute!”

I am _murderous_ is what _I_ am.

“You massive jerk! Why do you keep scaring me!” I scratch at his chest and neck with no success because he already has me out of reach, looking on as I roar with an animalistic sound right at him. My nails are legit claws, so this is a smart move. Sure, they’re filed, but chakra is Magical Girl surreal and already I know I am going to have to file them again. “That is _not nice_ to do, Momo-oji!”

He huffs like a canine, all chest heaving. A naked chest. What. I get distracted from my annoyance by blinking at the fact he is wearing… a _towel._

I am _so glad_ to be prepubescent.

“ _Why are you nekkid?_ ”

He huffs again, amusement clear. “I will be helping you, Hime.”

I flail for a moment before i am tucked gently into his chest, my face pressed to his neck. He also smells of lavender and vanilla, but with the sharper bite of ozone, canine, green growing things teasing me beneath that. I can’t help myself when I press my face into his shoulder, inhaling and thrumming soft and low. I barely notice when I close my eyes, long hot fingers combing through my hair. Ffffffff _ffeck_ , how do I love someone like this so much? So fast?

Being four is like being constantly naked; your heart is bared to the world and while your brain says it is a bad idea, the physical and emotional need for giving and being loved is a stronger pull than sense and logic.

That’s terrifying.

But, oh, he makes me feel safe. He makes me feel wanted. He makes me feel like I can _do_ this. I cannot help my tears, but I ignore them. They are happy, relieved tears.

“Senpai,” murmurs a voice I recognize as _mine_ and thus barely do more than blink into the sun darkened skin of the old wolf cuddling me. “Let me help.”

Hair gently being tugged and teased from the braid and solid hands of heat holding me secure, I snuffle as close as I can before letting my mind flutter into sleep.

.•*•.

 

Sakumo feels his back tense, the small body in his arms lax in sleep. He has been in rocksides, cornered _and_ outnumbered by enemy ninja, and at the (glorious) mercy of the wild woman he is courting and all of that pales in comparison to having the trust of this small child in his arms that, thankfully, has put on _some_ weight since last time. Wrapped in a towel from armpit to ankles, he seems even smaller than before.

“What am I doing, Maru-tan?”

The teen gives the man a look, finishing with the heavy curtain of hair and drags the oil and bowl over to do for the child what he had done for the younger man and Jiraiya earlier. Atypical behavior for an adult much less a child. The wolf closes his eyes momentarily to try and force ignorance on himself. It doesn’t work, but he tries.

“Right now,” starts the boy who Sakumo has taken such an interest in, voice contemplative and just a bit confused, “we are washing his hair and body.”

The man glares at the teen, chest rumbling. The child on said chest hums a little less human than expected and he freezes again. The teen chuffs a laugh not unlike Sakumo would. Seeing as they had come to know each other in the last few months, it isn’t entirely surprising that the boy is taking on some of his habits. Easier to pass off than a snake-like tendency.

Fuck, how is this his life?

“I can _not_ just take a cub from another clan, Maru-tan.”

“And the the fuck _not_ , hm?” he hisses, definitely serpentine. “The child likes you, trusts you, has _laid claim_ .” He backs up a step as he takes a deep breath. “You, Hakate Sakumo, had better look a little deeper. Because you are…” he rakes a hand over his head, hair parting with startling ease. “You are someone he trusts. Hell, you’re someone I trust! I’m seventeen and too strong to just form bonds and he is four and we are _broken_ and you seem to want us anyway!”

Sakumo has never heard the teen so vehement and passionate about anything like this before. His face softens, a tender look curling around his eyes, his mouth. Reaching one arm out, he tugs the teen jounin in close, scenting his hair, his cheek with his own and that slender neck with a hand. What a trusting cub. _His_ cub, almost grown and still in need.

“Ridiculous cub,” he scoffs teasingly. “You’re mine too. I just…” he curls the arm around the child tighter. “What am I doing?”

The teen, entirely done with touchy-feely crap, starts on the long hair with the oil. “Your best. Which is a sight better than what he has now.”

Silence falls as the two work, the hair taking far longer than either would have thought. Sakumo is missing out on a friend date to catch up. Orochimaru is missing meeting up with Tsunade for training. There is a high likelihood that Jiraiya is still around, little worried fiddling turning into him working on seals and tags for missions most probably somewhere inappropriate.

Like the kitchen counter that one time.

Never again.

Washing the oil out and combing takes almost an hour. Bathing and dressing barely takes ten minutes.

“Madness,” mumbles the older man. Orochimaru just huffs a laugh.


	3. Soft swell of (maddening) joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 尾ろ = Oro = Tail Infiltration  
> やや = Yaya = Kind Of  
> もも = Momo = Peaches  
> つ = Tsu = One
> 
> The actual translations because I am going to PUN. Eventually.

I wake up to warm cuddles. That’s nice. I don’t remember falling asleep but then again, I seldom sleep. I live in a house that gets dropped in by clan controlled ninja. Sleeping is not a priority.

“Mmm,” I hum, snuggling closer, the body holding me chuckling. That’s not Sakumo. Or Orochimaru. “Yaya-oji, so warm,” I nearly purr, thrumming from my chest. “Smell good.”

And he does. Like rich loam and rain and grass. Maybe a bit like pond water. Which, well, isn’t a _bad_ smell. Odd, maybe, but not bad. I curl my hands under me and let my cool fingers bask in the oven like body heat. Goodness, he is warm. Snuffling a little into his hair, I settle back down with a big yawn. Jiraiya might be a pervert by trade and preference, but he can be a darn good child keeper.

“Seems like Hime is awake,” he teases, pulling on a lock of hair.

That is such an odd sentence. Why is that an odd sentence. Is he not pulling on my braid? I blink, sitting up. My hair. Is not braided.

“Oh no,” I whisper. “It’s loose.”

Now, one might think I am blowing this out of proportion. Let me spell it out: may hair is looooong enough that, when braided, it _touches my ankles_. When it is loose, I could feasibly use it as a jump rope for one person. Also when loose, it. Is. Curly.

“Welp,” I mutter, looking up into the amused face of the toad nin. “I am going to have a mane. Hope you like walking bushes.”

He laughs.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

 

I barely get out of his arms and straightened up before there is a knock from the genkan. I blink at the man who towers over me. He shrugs. I shrug back. Orochimaru looks in the room, brows rising in question. Sakumo peers in from the other side, blinking in confusion. I shrug again and toddle to the front of the house.

All of them follow like massive murdering ducklings. I very carefully do not think about that as my lips twitch. These men are not small and fluffy handfuls. They _are_ adorable menaces.

Trooping to the genkan, I slide the pane open and look up. I get… a lot of bust to the face. Holy smokes, that’s… a lot. Lady, I am so sorry. Your spine. “I would say hello, but I can’t actually see who I’m talking to.”

Jiraiya chokes before cackling. Sakumo smacks the younger man into the floor and I sigh. Orochimaru is the only dependable one. He is level headed and calm. I glance at him and his glittering gold eyes, winking at him. He closes his own, taking a slow silent breath as I turn back to the, um, bust. The woman is kind enough to take a large step back, looking at me over her own flesh.

“Senju Tsunade,” she introduces. I smile.

“Daichi!” I chirp, waving instead of bowing. I seldom see ninja of any kind bow to anyone. Probably because they are all paranoid. Well, technically, _not_ if someone is out to get you and this is a truth they live. “Nice to meet you, Senju-sama!”

Jiraiya suddenly shouts. “Hey! How come you gave her your name!?”

I look at him. “You haven’t introduced yourself _nor_ asked, you big ninny.”

He opens and closes his mouth, going from indignant to mildly sheepish. I roll my eyes because if he had asked, I would have said. The blond woman, now introduced and pleasantries over, looks at the ebon haired young man.

“I was waiting for you, idiot,” she hisses and I instantly feel affront on Oro-oji’s behalf. “And I got a measly clone telling me you’re busy? That something came up? Come on, who do you know in this village that wants your attention?”

“Me!” I pipe up, holding my hands up to him. Orochimaru indulges me and pulls me up to his hip. Hugging his shoulders so I’m not putting my arms around his neck, I snuggle close, curls creating a waterfall over his arm and down my back. It is not like anything in the village and that automatically makes me a curiosity. Huzzah for the most random genetic lottery possible. “I want my Oro-oji!”

Maybe being four is going to my head, but I stick my tongue out at arguably the most terrifying woman in the Elemental Nations. There isn’t even a speckle of fear. Is Ninja Nonsense catching? Please, dear God Almighty, you haven’t let me down yet, please let this not be the case. I need my good sense if I am to save these idiots from themselves.

(If I am to live long enough to do anything for them.)

Tsunade blinks at me, at the fact I am willingly crawling into the arms of the pretty, pretty man or that a child isn’t running in terror at his animalistic features, I don’t know nor entirely care. “Kid, you have weird taste.”

I bare my teeth. “Just because you’re a princess doesn’t mean you can be a rude cow!”

Tsunade goes red with rage, raising a fist.

…

The fist comes down.

Oops.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

 

And that is how the front porch and genkan of the house had to be repaired. It is also how Sarutobi-sama gets involved while he is carting his very young son around like a little sack of potatoes. It is also how I make a grown man learn how to carry an infant that small.

Does no one actually teach ninjas how to take care of small children? Is that not a thing?

“Does no one teach you guys how to _Adult_? They can teach you one hundred ways to kill a man with a piece of paper but not how to act like a person?” I think about it. “Giant murder children. With the Adulting skill of Not Dying From Food Poisoning.”

Sakumo actually has to get up from the cushion and walk into the house for a few minutes. Orochimaru snorts tea from his nose onto the splintered wood a fair distance away, quickly turning to coughing as it begins to burn. Tsunade pauses with tea almost to her mouth and Jiraiya seems to be glad he, for once, isn’t dying on his drink. Sarutobi blushes and hides behind his tea as I cuddle the swaddled bundle in my arms.

Seeing as I am currently holding a child that is not Asuma, I can only assume this is an older son that dies early in the series. Possibly by being _dropped_ , you do not hold infants like that! Running a finger over one velvet cheek, I rub my chubby baby cheek against chubbier baby cheek, thrumming.

“I find your daddy holding you like he was again and I’m stealing you to be my baby brother. Yes I will, yes I will,” I coo as I tickle the tiny ear and little dimpled chin. “He will have to explain to his wife why, too.”

Wow, tan man went _white_. Sakumo returns just in time to hear me, of course, and covers the lower half of his face even as his eyes crinkle in the corners. Resuming his seat, he takes up his tea and finishes it off in one go. Probably safer that way. Turning my attention back to the infant, I tickle toes up chubby legs, checking the cloth diaper before resuming my gentle explorations. Soft little chubby belly and chunky baby arms and one chubby fist firmly in the mouth of what has to be a three or four month old babe. Probably starting teething.

“Does he get fevers from the teething or has it been smooth?” I ask aloud as I stick a finger in his mouth, checking gums and cheeks and tongue. A tongue the baby sticks out that I reciprocate. “Silly monkey, who taught you that.”

There is silence for a while before I look up; the God of Shinobi (to be) seems confused. I blink.

“Do you honestly know nothing about babies?”

He seems embarrassed and I sigh. Seriously, do adult ninjas just not get taught how to adult? Who lets them procreate without some background in proper child rearing? Is it just a Russian Roulette of Who Survives Anyway? I tug a curl from the gooey baby fist.

“Hair is not for eating, little monkey. It’s not good to chew on, either.” I pull my ridiculous hair over my shoulder and away from grasping hands. “Your daddy should have dressed you so you could have rolled and tried crawling like a strange little starfish. All kicking legs and belly bulged out with air as you try to figure things out.”

The baby gurgles and I see Tsunade blush and put a hand to her own belly. Ah, yes. The Baby Syndrome. I remember it well. Jiraiya just seems entertained that I am entertained while Orochimaru takes a long look, not so much staring as cataloguing. Sarutobi seems to be taking actual mental notes as he finishes his tea even as Sakumo leans over to dangle his fingers in the way of busy baby fists. I tuck his hair behind his back with one hand, keeping the little monkey in the cradle of my legs with the other.

After a few minutes, Sarutobi sighs. “I hate to end this…” he waves his hand to include a lot of things in my general direction before continuing. “But I must be going. My wife expects me back very soon.”

I humm, rubbing cheeks once again with the infant, touching noses and making him go cross eyed. “Take care of the baby monkey, Sarutobi-sama,” I chirp as I swaddle the moving infant back up. “Hold him to your chest, always support the head, and no sudden changes in direction.”

Ignoring the fussing, I hand the infant boy over with a farewell croon and a kiss. Properly chastised, the older Shinobi scholar presses his son just so to his chest as he rises. I give him a peace sign before turning to Sakumo.

“What do you want for lunch?”

My stomach growls… as does that deeper, more visceral hunger. I pat my belly and turn around smoothly. Joys of being a child and without joint injury. Makes gymnastics and yoga easier.

“I’m game for whatever you make,” the old wolf replies. I glare and he grins. “Make what you will eat, Hime. We will probably eat everything.”

What I want is a tortilla smothered in Nana B’s Real Mexican Food™️ and enough Mexican rice to choke on. If I have a cast iron skillet, I can make tortillas no problem, but they just don’t make as well in anything else. I have tried. I can make rice, no problem. But the spices are difficult to come across and my dietary needs are killing my ability to eat everything else, so why not that? If I could just get a cactus, I could try and see how that stands against my secondary hunger. I live in the middle of a forest, though. So. No cactus.

Still, a cast iron skillet would be just lovely.

“I have no idea what I want. Food. But what kind?” I tap my lip. “I could go for some noodles, but they don’t have a chakra signature for me to siphon, sooooo…?”

My quandary, what do I eat that feeds both hungers? It’s like the ultimate diet and it sucks muck covered shoes. The meat won’t do it. Noodles and processed grains don’t have more than a ghost of their energy. Most of the veggies barely sustain a sedentary lifestyle. I’m running out of options.

I stop. Grains. _Oatmeal_. Honey has a lot of life in it, surprisingly. Then again, I buy from the Aburame. American breakfast food for lunch. Hot, filling, and has a lasting effect both in keeping me full and filling me with energy. Honestly, if I could get over eggs being raw, I could eat those too. I cannot, however, and wave the thought away. Oats. I need oats.

Turning to the Viking braided toad, I pointed at him. “Can you actually shop? For _food_?”

He takes a moment to seriously ponder this. I fear.

“Possibly. Why not ask Maru-tan?”

Good question. “Because I want to braid his hair.” Because today is the day and I am going to. “And you need to know a basic skill, Yaya-oji. Seriously, just ask old Honda-san to help out. Tell him it’s for Hime.”

The man salutes, walking down the hall to grab something. Moments later and a _floof_ of smoke later reveals him with arms full of clothing. Maybe.

“Yaya-oji, are you a stripper?”

Instant silence before all heck breaks loose. Jiraiya falls to his knees, face almost the color of his hair. Sakumo makes a sound that sounds like he is being strangled, hand coming down on my head. Tsunade and Orochimaru choke, hacking and coughing. I feel vindicated even as the poor wolf plucks me up and holds me in his arms.

“Hi- _Hime_ , please, who teaches you _such things_?!”

Pressing my face into his neck, I laugh. I laugh until it hurts. It laugh until I start to cry with it. And, maybe, I cry because I miss this so much. For the first time in a long while, I am _not alone_.

And I _believe it_...

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

 

Jiraiya is not a stripper. Oro-oji made sure to make a point of telling me as I braided his hair. Hair in a half up ponytail, I weave a reverse braid from nape to crown before tying the whole into one tail and setting up to make braids from tie to tip. It will take a while but be worth it. Ten braids in and Tsunade speaks up.

“So, this is what you do now? Get pampered by some unknown brat?”

I press my lips together and carefully do not say anything. The clinking of beads as Orochimaru turns his head to glare at his teammate is loud in the silence. Finishing off another braid, I start another and keep my eyes on my work. They need to work this out between them. They should be a Pack but act like they barely see each other. No amount of me yelling at any of them will help.

“Senju,” says the man under my hands, his eyes probably a cutting glitter of amber as he stares at her. “I would have invited you over if you stopped for one moment, would have followed you had you but asked… yet you have not given me leave to think that would be a sensible counsel.”

I purse my lips, biting my cheek. Oooooh, that was like lighting a match and then taking hairspray to it. One would have been enough to light a fire but he went hardcore flamethrower. Sakumo doesn’t say anything either, watching my hands deftly tease the hair into near replicas of each other. He holds out another hair clasp, steel with a latch. A whole basket has ended up in my mess drawer in the kitchen. I wonder how.

It takes a while to finish the braids and neither sannin say anything to each other. I feel the heat of their gazes, the weight of words unspoken. It is stifling. Letting the long glossy braids lay over my arm, I lean in and press my face into the long, soft stretch of neck where the purple yukata dips. Forehead to the column of flesh, I breathe out. They shouldn’t be like this. They should be a _team_ , an unassailable force. Not… not individuals who can barely tolerate each other.

Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, I look at the blond who has been watching him, me, _us_ so strangely. “Senju-sama, if you feel left out, _tell_ them. I am sorry to say that neither teammate are Yamanaka blood and that requires communication.” She looks at me with laser intensity. “You do actually blow off your teammates for a dude who you see maybe twice a month. Like last night.”

She winces, eyes dropping. I pinch the bridge of my nose. She’s not taking the idea and running with it. Why is this my problem now?

“Ninja need to be taught how to communicate with more than grand gestures or life and death situations. This is madness,” I groan, thumping my forehead on one elegant shoulder. Orochimaru chuckles softly, pushing one hand through the curls to cradle my skull. I relax into the feeling, thrumming a not-purr.

“The brat is correct,” mutters Tsunade, sighing as she settles back. One leg bent under as the other dangles off the porch, she rubs her face. “I shouldn’t do that. Dan is an amazing man but I should never ignore you two just because.”

“No, you should not,” the snake agrees, taking part of his ponytail in hand and running his fingers over the braids with an intensity I haven’t seen outside of someone with anxiety or autism. Snap. Is he a high functioning autistic or is he anxious? “We are without you, Tsu-hime. We haven’t been without each other since we were children.”

She sighs and doesn’t offer a solution for over ten minutes. Maybe. I don’t know, Time is a screwy heifer of a good day. Sakumo is no help, fingers twining around my curls and even pulling a few of the tighter spiral curls only to release so he can watch them spring back into shape. Work with me here, old man.

“Then invite him into your team. Invite his team into your Found Family.” I get a few looks. Raised eyebrows. Random fluttery blinks. “What now?”

It takes a moment for Sakumo to articulate. “What is this _Found Family_?”

I take a big breath and sigh, pulling away from the comfortable shoulder to really look at them. “Found Family is a family you _make_ . Friends that are as close or closer than blood kin. Sakumo is like my father, Orochimaru and Jiraiya are my uncles or brothers or something.” I wave my hand as I try to explain. “They care. They watch over me. They don’t always know what or how to do something, but they are learning. They are trying. They are _mine_ .” I shrug. “I mean, there isn’t a definitive. They are what they are, whatever that may be. Found family doesn’t have to be defined by a societal norm. It just _is_.”

The three share looks, pensive and spooked. I give up. They are going to be weird and strange all they want, I am hungry. Detangling myself from the two with hands in my hair, I try and push it back as I toddle off to the kitchen. Let them contemplate my world views.

I don’t see the very weighted gazes at my back. Maybe if I did, I would be more prepared for their madness.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

 

Jiraiya is just setting the oats on the counter when I get there and I eye him. This is a classic “No, I wasn’t eavesdropping” tactic for teens who are clever enough to try and not get caught. I snort to myself, a huff of air from my nose. He inory haired goon even turns to smile at me.

Unable to stop my own smile, I lean into his leg, laying my head on his thigh. Ridiculous tall man. “You,” I utter with severity, “need to have better tactics to not be caught dropping eaves.”

He sighs and pats my head. “What do you know?”

“I have dealt with too many children, teens especially. You are _just_ _like_ a teen.” I rub a hand through my hair, sighing when the curls riot. “For goodness sakes, this _hair_. What do I even do with it.”

Standing under my own power, I go to fetch my stool. Back in the kitchen, I spook when there is a sudden amount of ninja in my kitchen instead of just the one. Clutching my stool a lot tighter, I barely make a noise. It’s noted how I do, actually, startle, but no one says anything. Good. This gives me time to swallow my heart back down where it belongs.

“One day,” I grumble to myself, “I will be taught to know my surroundings. Chakra sensing cannot be that difficult after not having any for so long.”

Ignoring the sudden boring of laser eyes, I get the oats open and a bowl, scooping enough for oatmeal and no-bake cookies because I am a sucker for cookies. Who isn’t? Humming my way to the pots and finding one that will be large enough for the ‘meal and a smaller one for batches of no-bake, I set them on the stove with a bit of difficulty. Large hot hands of the toad help, patting my head when I turn to get a large cup for the water.

Turning on the spigot and sighing in relief when it spits to air-filled life, I let the water run for a few seconds before braving a quick taste. It’s not poisoned nor does it seem to have an off smell or color. I wait a full minute anyway before scooping up the first cup.

“Pour this in the big pot, please.” The cup is taken, poured, and returned in about a minute. So I do it again and again. “Now the little one.”

Hopping down, I push my stool to the new location, turn on the stove, and start wandering around for what I will need for the cookies. I wander for the butter, placing a large glass bowl over the smaller pot to warm the solid block to soften it up. Proper butter made from scratch is about like a frozen block of ice cream - darn near impossible to use until it’s soft enough to scoop out.

“That… is a _big_ block of butter.”

I giggle at the incredulous Sakumo, getting out cocoa and the the peanuts I have to pulverize into peanut butter. Getting a plastic ziplock bag (huzzah, conveniences in unexpected format) and pouring the peanuts in, I seal it, lay it out, and grab the meat mallet to start beating the everlovin’ tar out of the nuts, every ninja jumping at the overly loud noise. Cackling at finally getting one over the sassy stabby dorks, I put the hammer down when the nuts are as crushed as that can make it, taking my conveniently placed rolling pin and grunting as I try to apply enough pressure to paste the nuts.

“Gosh darned hiccup of a cow, _roll_ , you nancy of a yellow bellied pansy!” I hiss, losing my cool long enough to bash the rolling pin as hard as I can into the middle. I frown. This is going to take ages and the water in the big pot is just about ready for oats and then it is a race to make sure nothing burns. I grouse in a good fume, face pouting, “Gracious sakes alive, that’s what.”

“That… is the cutest cuss I have ever heard,” is whispered by Jiraiya to one of the others. I point the rolling pin in his direction.

“If you have time to observe, then please use some of that to help me make these nuts paste!” Frowning (re: pouting), I whack the plastic baggie of nuts again, frustration high. “Nowhere sells peanut butter! And trying to market it is like pulling teeth from a chicken. Impossible!”

Surprisingly, he does. He takes the rolling pin and I give him a loving kiss on the inside of his arm because I’m not tall enough to really reach anything else even on my step stool and I am accustomed to showing open affection even with unconventional openings. He hums as I direct him to rolling the wooden cylinder, the nuts pressing against of the plastic a little before he vanquishes them to an oily paste.

Toddling off with my stool once again, I check the butter and the water in the big pan. Humming, I start the prep for the oatmeal and shut off the smaller pan. Oats get poured and honey and a large slab of softened butter added, stirred, and eventually fished up with fruit to add in.

“Let me see, let me see,” I chirp to the ivory haired man, bouncing on my toes. “If it’s the right kind of squishy, I can make cookies properly!”

The man snorts, plucking me up to see his efforts. “Squishy alright. It’s oozing all over the counter.”

I laugh, taking the baggie and squishing the edges. All soft and creamy looking. I squeal, kicking my feet as I chanted yes yes yes! Squishy peanut butter! Yay!

“Down, down, down,” I nearly yell in my joy. I. Have. Peanut _butter_ . What a great day to be alive! Rolling the baggie into a pipe, I dance across the room as soon as he lets my feet touch the floor. Pot dumped of water, I croon as I start making the no bake cookies. “Peanut butter, peanut butter, _peanut butter_ ,” I sing. “Yaya-oji made me peanut butter~!”

I don’t notice him blushing, scratching his cheek as a little pleased smile flirts with his lips. Tsunade raises a brow at him. He grins in full, looking at me as I sway on my stool, ignoring them all as I start mixing up the no bakes with gusto. To be honest, I have been craving them for _months_ , but until recently have been unable to paste any nuts enough to use. I will have to find hazelnuts and put them and the chocolate together for some homemade Nutella.

Me, destroy the structured economy for food? What _lies_.

(True. All true. I will take the markets by storm, heck yeah!)

I sigh as the mixture finishes up some minutes later, my mind a million miles away in another world at another stove top, large hands, fingers calloused from hard work and as pretty as anything, coaxing my own into the motions of hand mixing in a water heated bowl. A soft worn shirt against my cheek as I turn up to look into the brightest eyes, I smile at the riot of curls held back in a tenacious if tenuous grip of a rubber band. Lines around a full mouth, not so much pretty features as soft and warm, crows feet landing on corners of a genuine gaze, I wished I could remember the color of her eyes, the exact placement of these features on her face. Grandmother had been beautiful more for her vivacious and ferociously protective heart than her Irish heritage.

But! But I can’t. Can’t think of that. Can’t take time to let myself swim in memories because if I started, if I let my mind wander, I would become a statue of flesh and blood (and hair) that would become bone. So I gently move the memory to a corner and dollop the sheet pan with no bake cookies and shove the first set in the fridge to cool. I have so many to make that I start getting out another two flat pans.

That might not be enough.

Finally finished with… wow, that is nine sheets of cookies. I, um, may have gone just a _little bit_ overboard. “This is overkill,” I actually mutter, brain-to-mouth filter crapping out on me. “What now. I can’t eat all this.”

“Have never heard of an Akimichi saying anything about too much food, kid. You alright over there?”

Ah, Tsunade. I forgot. “Normally no, you wouldn’t hear that from an Akimichi but, hey, eating disorder from the Underworld.” I switch out the chilled batch for another one to cool. “Enforced starvation does that. Nothing to do but make the best of a terrible situation, yeah? Not like I have a choice.”

The room falls quiet again, this time with upset. Or murderous rage, take your pick. I roll my eyes because, come on, _ninja_ leaking _killing intent_. I can literally taste the iron and fury in the air. Which, by the way, is weird as heck but kind of intriguing to experience. I give them all a dull look.

“Can the murder vibes, I don’t like tasting iron while eating my very lovely cookies,” I sass, in the between stage of catching-up-on-sleep and too-much-sleep since I’m not used to having the ability to actually _sleep_ without creepy clan visitors. My verbal filter is just _gone_ , fabulous. I stuff a cookie in my mouth to stop the tide of words leaping off my tongue. Being well rested and in a good(ish) mood while also being relaxed and still exhausted in ways physical wellness doesn’t help, even if I reason with myself to shut the heck up. I grump into a second cookie, low and nearly garbled, “Friggin speech filter, just gone. Thanks, exhaustion.”

Big hot hands scoop me up, an equally hot face curving into my neck to breathe deep of my scent making me relax like a sack of pudding. Curving into him, I press my own nose to his clavicle, low thrumming croons that aren’t quite purrs coming my my chest and throat without censor. I drop my cookie and think nothing of it, pressing my hands to his vibrating chest that rumbles like a dog’s when they feel content, a sub vocal sound that I have only heard a handful of times without a high happy whine to accompany it. My face pressing to his pulse point,I inhale ozone and dog and green growth under vanilla and lavender.

“Fucking what am I looking at, guys,” comes a low voice on the edge of my perception, a demand as much as an inquiry.

“Sakumo-senpai acquired a cub. A needy, damaged, nigh impossible cub.”

“That is a child, Maru-tan.”

“So what? The kid’s pretty adorable. Likes to cook. Helps us with our hair. Not that that is a _dig at you_ or anything, woman.”

“And you just… _let_ this infant do as he pleases? He hasn’t been feeding himself, what right do you have taking advantage of that, you _bastards_?”

“I would like to disabuse you of such notions, Tsu-kun. Hime most undoubtedly ate less before now. I am going to talk to someone about growing chakra saturated foods.”

“Like that is going to fix _this_!”

“Well…”

I giggle into the neck of my wolf. Mine. _Mine_ . Maybe not for long, maybe I will die before long, but for a while, I have him. For such a tool of death, he is so loving. Almost enough to make me cry from sheer love. I’ve known him less than three days in total and I _love him so much_.

He reminds me of my grandma.

I should not think that. I should close that down. Ignore it all and just take this. Savor it while I can. I know myself and I will get _attached_ and then I will break the whole darned world for him. For _them_ , _mine_ , those I have already declared mine, mine, mine.

I am in _so much_ trouble.


	4. Eviction Notice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daichi maybe breaks a little.   
> Maybe breaks a few hearts too.

Amazingly enough, the rest of the day went swimmingly; we eat our oatmeal with honey and butter and fruit varieties then later have a nice supper, nibble on cookies that retain more nature chakra than I ever could have imagined on their own, and I have a short talk with Tsunade that, no, this was not normal, do not report the Akimichi, the Clan Head is to return soon enough. And it isn’t. It is not normal at all. I’m a halfbreed. Most of my neighbors have infants and teens who are half outsider blood from more than the Akimichi. 

As my neighbors are Nara and Yamanaka as well as Akimichi, I am the odd one out. I haven’t been claimed by any of the groups, but it is visually apparent I should bare the Akimichi last name. To those in the compound. Out there in the village, I am just another odd little orphan who could belong to any one of ten clans or a civilian who wasn’t upfront with the clan that sired me. But I also bare characteristics that aren’t connected to any of the three. 

First, I have amber-gold eyes with a deep orange ring on the outermost of my iris. It lends a feral air, really, and no one is quite sure where it comes from. Even Inuzuka wonder who I belong to, some wondering if  _ their _ clan should be vouching for me. It’s not true, but they are a sweet bunch and tend to let their children play with the delicate looking creature known as Hime. My hair is not just wavy. It’s up and up  _ curly _ . Like, any shorter than my mid back and I could have a full on Afro. Like a Kumo nin. 

That often falls through even though I have marginally darker-than-Nara-average skin. My hair isn’t blond in any sense and that would be the giveaway. Some speculate Kiri sire since I have unusual chakra. Not even close. No one thinks I could be Suna and I giggle a little at the thought. 

But, that isn’t the issue nor the problem at current. Sakumo is to go back out tomorrow. I don’t want him to leave me. I am physically four and have absolutely no control over how fast I tear up at this pronouncement. 

“Sorry, sorry,” I blubber, using a towel to scrub my face as we finish cleaning up the kitchen from our last meal of the day. The sannin trio have gone to do… what super ninjas do, I guess, so it’s just us two. “I didn’t mean to cry.” 

A large hot hand pushes into my curls and cups the back of my head. “Maa maa, Hime-chan. It’s only for three days.” He crouches to look at me in the eye. “You will be okay.” 

I don’t say that  _ no, it will not _ . I do not say  _ you make me safe _ . I do not say  _ please don’t leave me _ . I do not. Instead, I hug him tight, inhaling him until my lungs are full of him. 

It will not be okay. 

I just have to remember that I probably won’t die. 

… 

I’m scared. 

 

So that night, he helps me pack all my things up neatly, holds me until I sleep. I can’t and he leaves and I  _ cry _ . It’s like losing a brother and a father all in one and I spend the whole night twisting my fingers in my loose hair. Something heavy and weary settles in my gut and tells me to be wary. To fear. 

It’s not wrong. 

The next morning, I’m folding up yukata and putting them back in their box when I hear someone thump down what sounds like… boxes. Like…  _ moving _ boxes, which is crazy to assume but you help people move enough in one life and the various sounds are unmistakable. I creep around the edges of the room to look and my eyes widen. There is a civilian Nara there with a definitely civilian strawberry ginger husband, hand on her belly as she complained about her Clan. 

So. It is happening. I am being kicked out of the compound. Just… 

I am so tired of  _ fighting _ , sometimes. I finally caught a break. Finally found a bit of peace. Akimichi-san, please. Swallowing back tears, I force a smile because repression, what a wonderful trick, and step out to see the couple. The woman zeros in on me in an instant. She is Clan civilian and that means terrifying lady. 

“Sorry,” I murmur. “I didn’t know you were moving in today.” 

And, wooooooow, her eyes went from gray to flat black. I don’t flinch or cry out and wait patiently for her to look me over. Her eyes narrow. Lord Almighty, she is going to be a terrifying mother, I am sorry kiddo. 

“You’re the unclaimed Akimichi.” She is a blunt one. I wave my hand because I love rubbing the schematics in people’s faces. Her eyes narrow further. I stare right back and she studies me carefully. It takes a minute before her eyes go wide and gray and she turns a little pale. She even sways and I feel great concern. “You’re  _ Clan _ .” 

And now I’m pale, because nope. How the heck?! I’ve been right under their noses for at least three years and this little civilian woman is giving me the most heartbroken look. I fidget. “I’ll just pack my things and go, sorry I didn’t know.” 

I run. I turn tail and run like a scared dog into the house, to the room that just yesterday had a pile of happy, sleepy Shinobi in it. I run into the furthest corner, climb into the closet, and hide. I am blindly panicking because oh no. She knows. She knows and she’s going to tell someone. She knows and I’m going to get in trouble for not saying anything and I cannot handle two Clan heads after my head. 

I am  _ unwanted _ . 

I am an  _ abomination.  _

Please don’t hurt me. 

After what be mere minutes but feels like hours, I have a very concerned man in the room, looking at me and trying to coax me out of my corner. I shake and shiver, teeth chattering in what is probably half shock on top of panic. I flinch back because when the light hits his hair just right, I’m reminded of an Akimichi cousin who takes delight in tormenting me. He is often the one to hold The Strap. To whip me until I bleed. 

The man stops entirely moving when I whine, a sound no normal human makes. That is the sound of a terrified dog. 

“Are you sure, Shiko?” he calls back gently, warm brown eyes on me. I try to breathe and can’t. I try to do more than wheeze and can _ not _ . It’s a terrifying condition. “That is a sound I expect from an Inuzuka. Not a Nara child.” 

She is in my sight now and I relax marginally. If she is  _ there _ , she cannot be  _ behind _ me. 

“I’m sure, anata. We weren’t always deer herders,” her gaze pins me and I feel my throat seize. “Just like Akimichi weren’t always noble humans.” 

I am so scared. I don’t want to be known as Nara. Akimichi are fun loving foodies. Nara are geniuses, albeit with a lazy attitude towards life. I can do one, not the other, and have no intention of being drug kicking and screaming into the latter. I am not enough and they will scorn me the moment they realize I’m just not that clever or smart. I am so average it’s pitiful and I would like to stay under the radar, please. One clan leader out for my head is enough, thanks. 

“Come on, little one,” croons the man in another attempt. I don’t move, the sound of shoji screens being slid open and more voices sounding causing me to go dead silent, eyes wide. I wonder what I look like to make the ginger man set back with widened eyes. “Or not.” 

“They cannot have  _ worse _ timing,” the woman growls, hand on the small of her back as the other cups the dome of her belly. Turning ponderously, she walks out of the room with the rage of a thousand spurned pregnant women at her disposal. I am not sure how I find it in me to be even more tense, but I do. 

I stare at the man. He stares at me. More bodies block the door, all middling skin and dark hair, shock on all their faces to varying degrees. I bare my teeth, making eyes widen. These aren’t exactly the most human looking hardware, that’s for sure. A chest rumbling growl comes from my throat. I am threatened, I feel threatened, in my den. This is normal and by now most Akimichi sent for me would be moving to strike me unconscious for my and their safety. 

That isn’t what happens. 

“Ooooh, HIIIIIIMEEEEEEEEE,” calls a voice I know well, my heart stuttering before cranking higher. “I come for your weird cookie things!”

I can tell he moment Jiraiya notices all the things that are wrong. Moving boxes on the porch to the side, not the genkan, more chakra signatures than mine, the sheer terror I must be exuding. I whine, loud and long and terrible. Like a stricken dog hit too often and vowed too many times. I don’t hear him, but he suddenly standing above the Nara field, a flash of ivory among the blacks and browns. 

Mercifully, they let him through and the ginger man steps back beside his wife. The moment Jiraiya is between me and them, I launch myself at him, making him rock with the force. He is wearing a few layers of his usual formal style and I wiggle my way into the kimono, turning it askew as the outer layer, the haori, drapes over me entirely. Well, except for my hair. Pressing my face to his chest, I stutter a soft sob. 

Warm hands come to pet me, rubbing my head and back, my hair a waterfall of curling silk down his chest. I shiver, cold now that my fight or flight has relaxed, drained of energy with a packmate capable of caring for me so close. I sigh into his skin, laying my cheek to it and just being for a very long moment, the people around me not speaking. I can feel their presence, unlike with Shinobi, and the pregnant woman is so full of life.  _ Twins _ . I smile a little, feeling bad that I was so scared and feeling so tired. 

I croon a thrumming not-purr, chest vibrating softly compared to the terrorized rattling of earlier. Eyes closing, I fall into a doze inside his clothes. It takes a short while for anyone to speak and I take in the words but don’t really hear them. 

“What the hell is going  _ on _ ,” hisses the woman. A lot of not-talking communication must be going on because she snarls something and I feel every single male flinch. Including Jiraiya. Patting his chest, I murr and croon. He sighs and pats me again, tugging on a few strands of hair. 

“Hime needs someone a little more… stable,” he casually mentions and I pop up like a Jack-in-the-Box at that, pinching him. “Ouch! The hell, Hime! You do! It’s not right, a brat taking care of themself like that!” 

I pop my head over the lip of his kimono, glaring fit to burn him to cinders. “I have been taking care of  _ you _ ,” I hiss like some disgruntled feline. “So excuse you.” 

His smile is tender when it comes and my breath catches. “Maa, Hime. It’s not right what was done to you. Is done.” His face drops into a ferocious scowl. “What I’ve been told has been done and seen the evidence of.” 

I shrug. “Well, of course not. But one won’t claim me until the head is back and the other never even thought to claim me, so. Whatever. I’ve survived this long.” 

His face grows positively thunderous. “You are literally starving half to death all the time.” 

“Nothing new,” I return flippantly, gaze narrowing, challenging. “Keep trying, oji. I have no interest in a clan that isn’t interested in  _ me _ . They probably just don’t want to look bad, anyway. So what’s the  _ point _ ?” 

He growled in return, less guttural than my own, but no less fierce. “You are touch-starved! You are alone!” 

“Not anymore! I have you and Oro and Momo! I have you and you are  _ mine _ , and that’s all I need!” I poke him in the chest with one finger while the other hand curls in his kimono, wrinkling it terribly. “I haven’t had anything in literal years! I am  _ four _ , that shouldn’t come out of my mouth, but I  _ made my Pack _ ! I  _ made _ it! It’s  _ mine _ and it’s people who  _ will _ care for me!”

“And we could die! Hime, there is a war!” 

“There will  _ always _ be a war! It is human nature! You have everything you could want, but then someone else has something you _ don’t  _ and that is excuse enough to throw a tantrum and send your military after it because, oh no. Someone who you’ve never met,  _ has something _ .” I pant and snarl, eyes tearing up. “And I have to face the reality that the war isn’t always flashy ninja magic.” 

He is silent for a moment, eyes carefully taking me in. Tracing my face and my depth of curls and the gaunt appearance of someone who has lost sleep. “What happens if we die, Hime. What then?” 

I close my eyes and feel the tears stream down my cheeks, breath leaving me like a punch to the gut, but softer, more subtle. Maybe more like a vacuum sucking it straight from my lungs. The very thought of me waking up without them in the world tomorrow makes something sick curdle my belly. “Then I give up. If you’re not there, what’s the point, Yaya?” 

I’m held tight, my face pressing into his neck. He doesn’t shake but his breath stutters for a moment. It takes a while before he speaks. “Oh, Hime.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, just holds to me tightly. I sigh, closing my eyes again. He smells like the perfect mix of open meadow and pond that I revel in, not crying but feeling the lodge of a stone in my throat. I love this stupid, girl-crazy, perverted man so much it is almost scary. 

Finally, he pulls gently on my hair and I look up at him through clumpy lashes and stray curls. “The family is supposed to move in here. They have a lease and everything, kiddo.” 

I sigh and sit up, patting my cheeks. “I figured as much. I have mother’s contract somewhere here, but it doesn’t matter.” He eyes me when I say that and I shrug. “She’s not here to contest it and my Akimichi head’s wife wants me to not exist. So, I haven’t a leg to stand on. Nepotism, Yaya. It’s why all the clan kids be ninja and the talented civilians either end up  _ dead in accidents _ or go missing after a while. Or married into a family and absorbed until they’re a nonentity.” 

He seems to ponder this very carefully and goes a bit pale. I smirk a little. “Yeah. So. I’m going to pack up my things, fly under the radar until I maybe hit double digits and then hide deeper.” 

“That’s… absolute shit, kid.” 

My smile holds no humor. “Welcome to non-affiliated existence. I really shouldn’t have made a Pack with such big names, but I blame Sakumo.” 

He didn’t laugh, instead staring fiercely. “That’s not okay, Hime.” 

“And?” I shrug again. My default, I guess. “I’m a four year old who won’t ever be a ninja due to chakra deformities. I’m not useful and being obscure is as good a cover to not be singled out for culling.  _ Don’t give me that look _ , it happens. Maybe not as often here, but kids do go missing all the time. Especially when you’re unclaimed.” 

He breathes out, slow and with such a horrible look in his eyes. I tilt my head, staring before pressing my brow to his, closing my eyes. He takes a deep breath, not unlike I do with them all, like he’s taking my scent in. He lets this one out equally slow. I rumble, soft and soothing. He’s seen so much outside the gates. He doesn’t want to know about what is inside them yet. 

“It’s  _ okay,  _ Yaya _.  _ It’s not perfect and I don’t expect life to be perfect. That’s setting myself up for failure.” I smile, soft and warm and loving as I open my eyes. “I don’t want it to be. That means that there is so much wrong if I’m on that pedestal. That means something bad has happened to someone else to get there. I never want that.” 

“Dammit it,” he rasps, curling his hand over my head. It almost sounds like he’s been crying but his face is dry. “Dammit, stop being so  _ good _ , brat. Be selfish for once, for fuck’s sakes! Just…” he holds me to his chest, pressing my mouth near his throat and I croon. “Just, for once in your life, take something.” 

I sigh. It’s quiet, my lips against his pulse as I whisper, “I have never known how. Not before and not now.” 

He makes a gut punched sound and holds just a little tighter. 

Eventually we part enough for me to notice that the room has been cleared. I look at the ivory-haired man and he Quirks his lips a little in an almost smile. “They left somewhere around the war riot act.” 

I blush clear to my toes. I had honestly forgotten people were there when I went off. Stupid excuses impair my judgement. Wonderful. “Well, you were using war as an excuse, you ninny. You might as well be saying  _ because the river flows _ or  _ the sky is cloudy _ . Some people don’t need an excuse.” 

He chuckles a little wryly, settling me down. “You have things all figured out don’t you?” 

I sigh. “Nope! Never! Now come on. I haven’t had breakfast nor any chakra supplements. I’m about ready to take a bite out of someone.” 

 

I eat, I pack, I get to see seals in action and, let’s be honest, I squeal and jump like a hyped up rabbit in glee. I mean, I can’t  _ use _ chakra, but it is amazing to see in action. Seals are such hax, dimensional cheat codes that basically give physics the finger. They are also pictographs when put together like this. Huh. Tilting my head, I walk around the seal and… yes, that is basically a box made with letters and characters of a language that looks like pretty doodles. Like, a box and a lid. 

“Weird. It’s a kaomoji seal.” 

A big hand lands in my hair long before it reaches my head. Ah, frizz. I have not missed it. “What are you even muttering about, kid?” 

I point down. “It’s a picture made with elements not like itself. It's kaomoji. See? That’s a box.” 

He comes to stand over me, face amused. It slowly changes to stunned disbelief. “Kid. How the hell.” 

I poke him. “I can’t  _ read _ . All of this is just pretty nonsense on expensive paper.” 

He laughs, long and loud, head thrown back. Most of the Nara from before come to investigate, several with little smiles as I wrinkle my nose at the older man. “Yaya, it’s not that funny.” 

Wiping a tear, he pats my head. “Oh yes it is, Hime. Mito-hime has been saying for years it’s not as complicated as I make it out to be and  _ here you are _ , looking at this, and showing me the kaomoji of a thousand year old  _ secret _ . Made for children. By the kami, she was speaking right.” 

I put my hands on my hips, cursing that I’m so short. I am four! I should be, I don’t know,  _ taller. Something.  _ “Yaya! Stop being ridiculous. It  _ is _ complicated, just not in the way you’re expecting. Do you even know how many characters I am going to have to learn in three different sets just to understand what this even says?!” 

He smiles and I feel foreboding because that is not a happy or silly smile. It’s a “you're not gonna like what I am going to do but I will” kind of smile. It’s the smile my gran once wore when she was teaching me how to make pickles. They taste good, but gracious the smell of a pickle before it’s canned! 

“I don’t like that smile.” 

He grins wider. “Guess what, kid. You’re gonna be visiting the old woman. She needs someone to keep her busy.” 

I stare. 

What. 

 

But yes, I’m packed and have thanked the family moving in for allowing me to do so, and now I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to pay for a new home and food and other things. “Will I even be allowed to get the monthly money pouch from my mother? Since I don’t live there and I’m not claimed?” 

Jiraiya actually seems to trip and I look at him suspiciously. He waves me off and we continue to walk. We do so for a while before I finally ask where we’re going. 

Yaya-oji, in all his wisdom, is wandering us to the Sarutobi compound. 

“Yaya, seriously,” I mutter. “He has a newborn. He has a wife I  _ have not met _ . I am not going. And not to the Senju compound nor Oro-oji’s place. I can not impose on them and…” I press and hand to my belly. “I’m scared. Visits are fine. Living with people? What if I…” I bite my lip and twist my fingers together. “What if I  _ hurt _ them with the way I am?” 

He is visibly panicking, hands fluttering with just the barest movement. I would feel bad, but this is a legitimate concern. I  _ eat _ chakra. It’s a terrifying concept. I could seriously injure someone by accident just by  _ existing. _

“ _ Hime _ . Hime, how do I answer that? You haven’t hurt me or Maru-tan or Sakumo-senpai!” He gestures widely, expressive. “You’ve not done anything wrong! And here you are  _ giving up your home _ , your life, and you’re basically an orphan! You have it more together at your age than I do now!” 

I look at him, trying to be helpful and sweet and actually caring about this stupid mutt brat that until a week ago didn’t even exist to him. “Why do you even care?” 

He stills, face gone ridged. I feel blood drain from  _ my _ face. I said that out loud. Turning my head to the side, I clear my throat and walk quickly towards an area that is basically all trees and low scrub native to the area. Shoot! I didn’t mean to say anything. I’m an insecure idiot and sometimes my filter (do I even have one anymore) doesn’t engage between my brain and mouth. But whatever! He’s a big bad ninja and the next time he’s on a long mission, he’ll forget I even exist! 

… 

Feck, I am hopeless. 

Or, too hopeful by far and trying to not get my hopes up that high. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I eventually just cover it up, hiding because that’s what I do now. I don’t deal emotionally because I am a whiny little brat. I just want to be thirty and asleep. Thirty is done with puberty surprises and you can sleep with whoever you want whenever you want just as long as pay your bills. Does sleeping with someone help anything? Not really, but I would be old enough to make those choices. Specifically old enough for basically the world to ignore. 

I eventually hear heavy footsteps come up behind me, Jiraiya kneeling and wrapping his big arms around me. I feel my breath hitch. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t… shouldn’t have  _ said that _ .” 

He pulls me back to his chest and that perverted asshole frog hermit seems light years away now instead of a few decades. “Oh, Hime. I don’t know what to do. I’m just some dumb ninja with,” he snorts right into my hair and I roll my eyes, because gross, “ _ ninja magic _ . I’m not sure what I’m doing here. You need to tell me.” 

I lean into him, dropping my arms to hold his to me. “I’m not even sure what I need. I’m only  _ just _ not starving to a slow death.” 

He tightens his grip. “Don’t.” I tilt my head and he presses his face into my mane. “Don’t joke about that. It’s not right.” 

And for a moment, I’m reminded that this is a man who has ideals, who thinks the world could be better, who isn’t a jaded porn author so used to the cruelty of humanity that he passes it off with barely more than a grumble. I turn in his arms and hug his neck, hair in the way and all. I smile a little because he still has my braids. 

“Right now, you’re doing it right.” Breathing in fresh loam and grass and rain and pond, I relax. “Letting me know and giving me a hug. By all the spirits, I  _ love you _ .” 

Jiraiya chokes, tugging me in closer as he holds tight enough that I wheeze softly, but I don’t mind. Wrapping myself around him as much as I can, I feel safe and content and all that adrenaline is wearing right off and I didn’t sleep a wink last night and I’m tired. If I’m not careful, I might actually catch up on sleep. 

Laying my head on his shoulder, I don’t mind at all. 

 

A few hours later, Orochimaru is crashing into Jiraiya’s little bachelor flat, panic all over his face. “Raiya! Daichi is—!” 

The ivory haired teen is sitting on his one recliner, a small body with a veritable bush of hair on his chest. He has a finger to his lips, eyes serious while his fingers card through the child’s hair, a large sloppy plait slowly taking form. Orochimaru is at once relieved and horrified. Because he knows why their little Hime is here. 

“What happened?”

Gesturing for his best friend to sit at the low table, the toad sighed. Rubbing a hand down his face, he couldn’t even figure out where to start. “Hime’s been evicted. By theirself and the damned matriarch of the Akimichi. Hime didn’t want to cause trouble and the couple coming to the house weren’t expecting it. Were, in fact, getting ready for a baby.” His fist tightened hard enough on the arm of the chair to crack knuckles. “Neither side knew what was going on. If that Nara doesn’t say something after today, I’ll be surprised.” 

The snake sat with a sad expression, looking at the child trusting them so sweetly. It was kind of painful in the best kind of way? He… didn't understand it. These feelings in his belly and chest were hard to understand or describe. 

“What did Hime do? You’re brooding, Raiya.” 

The teen groaned, putting a suddenly floppy arm over his face, real sorrow and heartache on his lips, in his eyes before they were covered. Kami, did Orochimaru  _ understand _ that. This just might be worse than his parents dying. Daichi is  _ abandoned _ . By parents and  _ Clans _ . 

“Hime asked  _ why I cared _ .” 

Oh. 

He couldn’t breathe for a moment, topaz eyes closing as he breathed deeply just for a second. Oh. His heart lurched and he went with it, not used to the sensation, curling over his chest until his ribs pressed into his legs. He couldn’t breathe very literally but that made the pain less somehow. Silence reigned as the two teens tried to figure out what they could change. They didn’t come up with anything, unsurprisingly. 

“I don’t know what to do,” is whispered and the two weren’t sure who said it but agreed emphatically. 

“And they apologized for saying it.”

Orochimaru wheezed. 

Fuck. What did they do? 

_ What did they do _ ? 


	5. Hot Potato Roulette

Sakumo is on the warpath. His mission is supposed to take three days. It takes one. Maybe it has something to do with the aura he is pitching out there or maybe they catch a look at his face when his mask is broken to shit, but whatever the cause, most had immediately backed down and the target is easily removed. 

Now, he is tracking rumors and supposed knowledge of where the Akimichi Clan Head is to be. He finds him with the Nara Head, the two dealing cards between them and four idiots who willingly played with either of them. Normally he would laugh… but this time, it is  _ personal _ . He may have been on a mission, but he has time to burn and he might as well do so going after these two. 

“I need to talk to you two,” he states, bland as unsalted butter and just as smooth. The Nara darts his eyes straight over, going languid. The Akimichi Clan Head blinks at his field partner and slowly places his winning hand down. The joys of being a ninja. 

They get up, both waving away at the other ninja. A moment after the three are down the hall, there is an outcry of the Akimichi Clan Head winning, their hands obviously peeked at. Sakumo pleasantly waits until they are in a room with the door closed before slamming a field silencing seal on the door and rounding on the baffled men. 

“What do you know of the situation back home.” 

For all that it is phrased like a question, that is a demand. The two share a mildly puzzled reaction, the Nara slumping back and tipping his head up very deliberately. Too bad for him, Sakumo is  _ not  _ an Inuzuka. He isn’t so easily gentled to hand as his… cousins. 

“You have… concerning clan issues.” He watches them share another look. They haven’t heard anything, specifically the Akimichi. “Ah. I suspected.” 

This is not that surprising. If the mistress of the Akimichi is playing this so close to hand that even the Nara are unaware, then of course the Heads out in the field are entirely blinded to the situation. It makes sense. 

“What the hell are you talking about,” Chōmei asks as his round jovial features harden. “We just received papers with all clan issues. Nothing our wives are unable to handle.” 

Sakumo wonders how much he will miss this alliance, maybe friendship. What he is about to say could sever any ties to three separate clans in one fell swoop and distance him from a majority of Konoha elite. He thinks of topaz and amber eyes, of a wild froth of curls in deep browns and almost-blacks and warm coppery auburns, a body too thin and a yawning hunger so deep it affects chakra. He closes his eyes for a moment. He is going to lose a lot of allies if he does this.  _ When _ he does it. 

“There is a child,” he starts low and firm, “by the name of Daichi.” Neither show recognition. “He is an Akimichi child and he has been starved.” Both inhale, in shock or denial, he isn’t sure and continues. “He is four, he is half Akimichi and half Nara, and the only thing I know is that his mother is definitely Akimichi and out in the field. He called himself a battlefield baby. He lives  _ alone _ in a house and no one seems to check up on him.” 

Chōmei takes a long breath, chest like the billows. Shikaharu goes very still. Peeling the seal tag off the door, Sakumo tips his heads at his fellows in place of a bow. “I said my piece. I’ll leave the rest to you, Akimichi-sama.” 

He leaves like he has never been. 

 

I yawn largely when I come to on the chest of Orochimaru, Jiraiya around us both and in need of hair maintenance. Oro-oji has been taking care of his hair but I may just take his hair down to give him proper box braids. Maybe. He would look gorgeous with micro braids around his face. Maybe I could do some princess crown braids with micros woven in. Maybe a Viking style, like Yaya-oji? 

Pondering this, I step into the kitchen like I did yesterday afternoon and evening. Basically, I own it until I do not and I cook what I please when I please. Halfway through rolling out the biscuit dough, someone bangs on the door twice before the hinges give way with a terrified squee. Three guesses as to who, and the first two don’t count. 

“Tsu-chan, please quit destroying the property of others. That is very rude.” 

Ah, there she is, big brown eyes zeroing on me as I use a small taster bowl to cut the biscuits out. Setting them on a flat pan I had found with at least an inch of dust yesterday, I pat may hands together to remove the extra flour. The oven dings its readiness and I roll the left over dough up, then back out with the also once dusty rolling pin. I cut out some more, setting beside the others and put the pan in the oven without speaking to the heiress. Silly girl. 

Rolling what is left up, I toss a cheese cloth over it, going to get out the pork and beef I had refused to leave behind and start cubing it for a pot that had been this close to being tossed out. Amazing what a bit of vinegar and baking soda can do. Amazing what a bit of lemon could do. 

Like make this bachelor pad not smell like a three month old, in the summer sun gym socks. 

Ahem. 

(How is it the used gym sock smell is universal? Like, oh sweet heavens no. Gym socks don’t even  _ exist _ , work with me here, universe!) 

Meat on to boil, I totter around and finish setting up the meal by cutting vegetables and seasoning the leftover dough as dumplings. Like the American dumplings, not the Asian kind. Ha. I would love to know, but that’s apparently how the ball bounces and I just want to say: bite me bum! 

Cleaning the counter off and dumping in the diced and sliced and cubed veggies, I turn to see two sleepy ninja leaning over the counter, hair a wreck. Pulling two cups down and dosing them with what amounts to rocket fuel in tea format that I will not touch, nope, I retrieve the brush from Jiraiya and the clips and hair clasps from Orochimaru. There is exactly one stool in the apartment and I use it to get at the hair, doing Oro-oji’s first since his would be faster than the curled disaster cloud of Yaya-oji. 

Undoing what is already here, I brush the long, straight hair out with ease. Taking clips, I tie part of the hair back, partitioning what I need and using smaller clips to keep it separate. The braid is a four part weave that starts at the temple and curls behind the ear to hang on the chest. The other side is the same and it takes a handfuls of minutes to get them done up. 

“Tilt your head back, oji-san.” The man winces a little at the address and I consider him. “Would you prefer Itoko? I wouldn’t mind calling you Orocchi.” 

He carefully considers this while consuming his caffeine even with his head back. Talented. “That would be lovely, Hime.” 

I smile, brushing my hand on his neck to scent mark him. “My Orocchi must be very different indeed. Are you non-binary, Orocchi?” 

He doesn’t answer and I go back to weaving hair, starting a set of braids on either side of his temple. They are four strand and like the ones in the front, ridiculously long. Like, so long. Between the braids on the very crown, I create a third. It takes but a moment to weave smaller braids from the nape and I let them hang as I crisscross the three fat braids with each other. A large clip holds them while I slip the smaller nape braids through them, then another two from the nape of his neck joined them. Then I started “basket weaving” the ridiculous small braids through and around to make a place for the hair I bun up to sit and stay out of the way. Honestly, it’s necessary. 

“All done,” I murmur as I cap the three-in-one last with a large clasp. It would hold relatively well in any event, silk hair or not. Might even be enough to bludgeon someone, I suppose. 

Jiraiya sits in seiza for me, Orocchi stirring breakfast. I get to work removing the braids and detangling the hair. It… takes a while. Did I ever mention how long his hair is? Like, hip length or more. Probably more. And curly-wavy.  _ It takes a while _ . 

“You could just pull it out, kid.” 

I whip the ivory haired man on the shoulder with the brush. “That is the worst idea. Why would I do that to you? That would hurt!” 

“Um,” he responds. “Ninja? Can take it?” 

“Ninja, mine, should not have to,” I retort evenly, gently detangling another strand. “You’re in your  _ home _ . Pain should not be here too, Yaya.” 

He huffs as I plant a kiss in his hair. I smile and scent his neck too, finally finishing the last braid. Brushing his hair to a soft, even texture takes even more time and breakfast is done without a braid in sight. His hair is silky, though, and I run my hands through it. So soft. Like, Afghan Hound soft. Or Pomeranian. Just so soft. 

I bury my face in his hair, the lingering lavender complementing his natural scent. I’ll have to remember that. 

“Come on, brat. Let’s eat then you can finish.” 

Also, a thing that changed? I’m not allowed chakra supplements until  _ after _ I eat a full if small meal. It’s… been hard because until them, I didn’t eat anything too substantial. Mainly because it didn’t feed the deep hunger. I’ve gained a little weight since two days ago with my Akimichi heritage and it’s so strange. I’m not entirely sticks in a flesh sack anymore. I’m not  _ healthy _ by any means but I don’t look like I’ll fall over dead from starvation either. I just look very sick. Or like I just survived a terrible illness. I guess taking chakra pills without enough physical nutrients is doing myself a disservice. 

It’s just hard to feel physical hunger over the other one. It’s hard to feel physical hunger when you usually do without. 

“So, with Tsu-chan here, you must have a mission.” Orocchi pauses in their meal to look at the blond girl. (Gosh, they were all so baby faced!) Tilting their head, they shrug elegantly, as expected of Orocchi. 

The blond sighs, nodding. “Yeah. I was going to make sure these idiots were packed and whatever, but I didn’t know they had a new live-in nanny.” 

I rudely point my chopsticks at her, snapping them. “Rude behavior, Tsu-chan. They are fine as they are. I bet they had at least three hours before they have to leave… unless you spent most of it with your whatever he is. Have these two even met him?” 

She goes red and I stare at her calmly, eyes sharp but serene. I wait for her to say something. She barely even raises a fist before I throw a biscuit at her. “Stop throwing a tantrum like you’re younger than me, brat. You can’t seem to control yourself when you do and you  _ destroy property not your own _ . I swear, what have they let you get away with, hm?” 

Jiraiya has twitchy lips but he knows better than to laugh after yesterday. Amazing what making a grown man stand in the corner for an hour will do. Apparently it’s boring. Who knew. 

Orochimaru isn’t much better but they are generally very serene about everything. That’s my Orocchi. Goodness, I just wanna dress them up so  _ pretty  _ sometimes. Sighing as I look at them both, I finish what I can and pop two pills with a crunch. 

“Hey what!” Tsunade is pointing, eyes wide. It takes all of a second before her hands glow green and Orocchi is there, between us. “Hey! No, that brat just  _ overdosed _ on chakra pills! Come on!” 

Orochimaru pats their teammate on the shoulder and forces her to sit. “Tsunade-hime. Please, do not. Daichi-hime is fine.” 

Sitting there plaiting Jiraiya’s hair into a simple Viking braid again, cool as a cucumber, I nod. She looks stunned and betrayed. The ebon-haired young adult tips their head at me and I smile. I’m not ashamed of my struggles. I am not  _ happy _ , but I am not  _ ashamed _ . “Go on, Orocchi.” 

Gently pulling her to the side, the teammates speak lowly. I ignore them both and finish the braids, three on either side of a broad chest and one very thick one going all the way down the length, a heavy knob of a clasp making it a deadly twist on such a simple hairstyle. The rest of his hair flows from his nape, a wild tangle that is soft and silky and well groomed. Snuggling into him, I hum when he easily scent marks me back. 

It’s easy to teach my Pack how I function. I didn’t even realize that I did it at first, but once mentioned, it makes sense to every curl of my hindbrain. So I showed them where to scent mark and which body parts to use and how to go about keeping their scents clean. I’m not a selfish pack member, I don't have to have them clear of all other scents, I just want them to smell like me, too. 

“All done.” I kiss his crown because even in seiza he is too tall and then I start to clean up, shooing him to grab the ready bags. I grabbed my own once the dishes were washed and left to dry and the food put away. 

“Hime, what are you doing?” I glance at the tall ivory-haired man and shrug my pack on. 

“Yaya, I can’t stay here. You have to lock up ninja style and I can’t dismantle or reset anything. So I’m going to find Momo-oji’s house and see if it’s open.” He tilts a brow and I gesture to the literal piles (now much neater) of technique scrolls scattered around on the low table and a stand and some bookshelves just in the front room. He sighs and I shrug. 

Stacking more food and chakra pills in my bag, he looks at me seriously. “Stay safe.” 

Hugging his leg, I don’t promise anything. 

 

I’m deposited on Sakumo’s porch, a pat on my head and kisses, one from Yaya and one from Oro. I feel so  _ warm _ . Smiling to myself, hugging myself, I grin ear to ear as I watch them leave. 

Biting my lip as my joy overwhelms me, I spin, giggling and dancing in place. They love me! Cupping my cheeks, I make a high mewl of delirious joy, bouncing on my toes. Somehow, someway,  _ they love me _ and I feel like I can fly! 

When I can calm down enough to stop making sounds, I find that the genkan is open. No wires or chakra or anything, but beyond that, it’s like a fortress. I shrug. It could be worse. It’s out of the rain, most wind, and it’s still fairly warm. I have a bedroll, covers, and some food with chakra pills. I can survive for a few days like this. 

Turns out, I don’t have to. 

Sakumo shows up sometime that night, gently lifting me to his shoulder. He smells of blood and satisfaction but also of lightning and dog and green growth. A littlest bit like lavender. I snuggle into his neck and relax, sleeping hard until morning. 

I wake up with a big futon under me and an arm made of molten steel trapping me into the sweat box that is his chest. Ugh. But, I am actually catching up on sleep. Miracles. 

“You need Dog Summons. Wolf Summons. Something. I don’t like to sleep without you here.” He tightens his arm and I turn into his chest, kissing under his jaw. It’s nothing sexual at all, it’s just enough scent from the glans there and the feel of his pulse to make me relax into a puddle. “Missed you, Momo.” 

Warm lips press into my hair. “Missed you too, cub.” 

We lay there for a while before I stretch and force myself out of bed. My belly isn’t exactly hungry but I know I need to eat. So I shuffle to my bag and then peer around the…  _ massive _ compound, what the heck, to find the kitchen clear on the other side of the building, close to the entrance and genkan. I check the fridge (empty) and the pantry (dry goods only) and pull out most of the stock in my bag. 

Lucky for Sakumo, I can make bargain bin meals. Rinsing the rice and finding a clean but unused rice cooker, I look to the rafters in something like disbelief. Do ninja not take care of themselves? Do they just buy something with the intention of doing and just not? He has a full kitchen with all the accoutrements, not a bit of it is dirty, and it’s all completely unused. Shaking my head, I test the blade of a few knifes. Each are sharp enough to leave bloody lines across the back of my arm with just a bit of pressure. I ignore the papercut-like stinging and set to work for nearly an hour. 

“ _ HIME _ !” Large hot hands pluck me up and check me over, the soup on the stove bubbling merrily away. The rice cooker dings, the boiling eggs with their egg timer rings, and I know the soup is all but finished. “Why are you bleeding?!” 

I sigh. “Momo-oji, I’m not bleeding anymore.” I wriggle. “Now put me down because breakfast is  _ burning _ and I am not allowed to have chakra supplements until I eat. Oro and Yaya made me promise.” 

He doesn’t put me down but he does turn off the stove eyes. Setting me on the counter, he looks me over until he sees the lines on my arm. I roll my eyes. He isn’t amused.  _ At all _ . 

“You did this. To  _ yourself _ , cub.” He pulls a roll of gauze from his hip pouch because of course he is wearing Jōnin blues and enough weapons to stand a siege. “It’s like you don’t care.” 

I shrug. “I’m fine. Just wipe it off. I am  _ healed _ .” 

He isn’t happy with that either. He does wipe me down and not even a line is left. That doesn’t make him frown any less. In fact, he is frowning harder, turning my arm. He leans in close and takes a deep breath, eyes closing. He licks along the arm and I scrunch my nose because  _ gross _ , Momo. “Ew! Momo!” 

He pulls me into him, scenting me aggressively. I let him, my belly finally gurgling. He doesn’t pull away so much as tuck me up and make us a combined meal. I eat what I can, take two chakra pills, and snuggle close. Scenting him, I snuggle into his chest, my nose in his neck and hair. I doze for a while, Sakumo keeping me close as he goes around cleaning up the kitchen, storing the food, and just puttering around. 

I will be real about this. My body is a mess and I am tired as heck basically all the time. I’m slowly working my way back to eating food three times a day, sleeping when I feel the need to, and filling my chakra up from what amounts to a negative which  _ should not be possible _ to a positive output that at least let’s me have a baseline health option. It’s a slow, awkward, annoyingly painful process, but it’s progress. It’s only been a few days. It’s going to take months if not years. 

In addition to that, all those bad habits about forgetting to eat once upon a time now plague me again. Only this time, I don’t have a convenient sound box that screams alarms at me at specified times every day. I have to actively remind myself. I may accidentally starve. 

Oops. 

“Don’t you have something to do?” I eventually ask of him when I try to get down. It’s not happening, but I have to at least try. “I dunno, don’t you have to check in or something? People your age to talk to?” 

He easily catches my escaping form, twirling me in his arms until I’m dizzy enough to stop moving. “If they wish to talk, they know where to find me.” 

After getting my eyes to stop swirling in my head, I watch him continue looking through reams of paper, marking some and setting others aside. I wiggle over, looking at the papers, written right-to-left, top-to-bottom. Some stand out and I look at the others. “Which character set is your name?” 

The wolf pauses in his work, looking at me baffled. I shrug. “No one has sat down to teach me and, since I’m not allowed to wander, I need something to do before I start chewing on you out of boredom.” 

Fifteen minutes later and we’re both confused. “What do you not understand, Hime?” 

I glare at the characters. “All. Of. It.” Sakumo sighs and rubs his face because I’m not a Nara genius, I’m just a (thirty-) four year old run-of-the-mill idiot. Who can cook well enough to not die. The end. Rubbing my face, I groan and slump into the arms of the old wolf. “I’m so dumb, Momo-oji.”

Said Momo-oji smacks me with a sheaf of papers. “No.” 

I blink. “Did… did you just  _ puppy  _ me?” I turn around to stare up into gray eyes. “Did you just puppy train me, old man?” 

Unrepentant, a smirk edged onto his lips. “Maa maa, it seems that I did, cub.” 

I throw my hands up in consternation. “All I wanted was a Pack, now I have a crazy wolf dad! Help, I am cursed to interesting times!” 

I expect laughter, maybe another smack. I do not expect being crushed to a hot chest, the clothes doing nothing to stop the walking-heater-Hakate from making me want to melt. He is near silent, pressing his face into my neck. I hug him as tight as I can, baffled but not upset in the least. Sudden hugs and cuddles from him are always welcome. 

Still, whatever brought this on? 

 

I get bored again. “Momo-oji,” I start seriously. “Do you have Summons?” 

Sakumo seems to blink as if waking up from a nap. Or that I’m distracting him from the mountain of paperwork he is going through. I am definitely doing the latter. “Mm? What is it, Hime?” 

“Do you have Summons.” I lean against his chest, looking up at his chin, smooth and sharp as his tanto blade. “And if you do, can I meet them?” 

Come to find out, no, he didn’t. And, as always,  _ why the heck not _ ! 

“I am a busy man. I don’t have time to take care of messes.” My wolf shuffled his finished pile primly. “And why would I need Summons? I am a powerful Shinobi.” 

“And you are  _ one man _ , Momo-oji,” I shoot back sharply, snapping my teeth at him. “Listen to sense and reason.” 

The man is clearly not happy about that and he bares his teeth. I bare mine right back. I will not back down over this. If I can change this one, maybe he won’t have to throw the mission to save his comrades. Maybe he’ll have on hand backup to keep things running smoothly. Maybe he will change everything for me just by being a Good Man. A Sincere and Kind Man. There aren’t nearly enough of them in this world. 

His face softens a little, his hand tugging gently through my hair. “This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” 

I press my face into his chest. “On call backup at the drop of the hat? Please, Momo.” 

He rubs his hand over my curls, down my back, a line of gentle fire. The wolf takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Okay, Hime. I’ll see what I can do.” 

I look at him through lashes and my wild bush of hair. “Don’t just take the first Summons scroll, Oji. Please. You need allies that can fight  _ with _ you. Ones that compliment who and what you are. And if you reverse summon, tell them that  _ your cub  _ wants their Touchan back.” 

Sakumo presses a trembling hand to the back of my head, pulling me up gently so he can press his brow to mine. His breath shakes and his eyes close. “What did I do to deserve you?” 

I feel my eyes prickle and my throat tighten. “Oh, Momo-oji, you are so  _ good _ . You deserve more.” 

We sit for a long time just like that. 

 

Sakumo tucks his cub in that night after a very long day of paperwork, food, and emotions. Kamisama, the  _ emotions _ . Pressing a hand to his chest, he sits on the porch just beyond the room he now shares with  _ his cub _ . His breath catches, his heart racing. How did it get to here? 

Thinking back to the moment a small, bony toddler had knocked themselves a loop by running into him, he can’t help but glance back. Already the sunken cheeks are filling. Already the body grows lean with meat and fat stores rather than brittle sticks covered in skin. Already his cub’s chakra is filling out instead of being a  _ void _ . Little spirits, he had thought it wrong at the first, but to know the reason and the how… 

Pressing a hand over his eyes for but a moment, he collects the thought and folds it gently and hides it in the very back of his mind so he doesn’t lose his temper. The man very deliberately does not think of how this could have played out had he not allowed his curiosity to lead him in place of ignoring it. 

(He wouldn’t be here, that’s for sure. He wouldn’t be contemplating reverse summoning himself for, as his cub stated,  _ on call backup _ for missions. He wouldn’t be going in tomorrow first thing and asking for a month’s leave for the first time in his career. He wouldn’t be so in love with his cub, a love of a parent. He wouldn’t be so terrified.) 

He has some time to work with his cub, some time to get to know them. By the Kami themselves, he is going to understand how his cub thinks. How they are so smart and clever. He wants to know them like no one else. He wants to learn how to braid just so he can do those complicated designs he sees his Hime do. He wants to learn what to cook so he can feed them, so he can see Daichi with soft baby cheeks and softer belly and know that they aren’t starved, they his cub is cared for. 

Staring at the stars, he does something he hasn’t done since he was a small child. “Please, to any power listening, help me make this right.” 

Not long after, he slips back inside, laying on his shared futon. Hime cuddles up to him, cool to the touch and soaking up his warmth. Pressing a kiss to their hair, he closes his eyes. 

Kamis above, he loves his cub. 


	6. Loneliness Is Like A Shadow, Always With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a little short but I’m sick of staring at it while I’m trying to get plot moving.

It has been six days and Sakumo hasn’t rushed off. Eyeing him as I wait for the water to boil, I tip my head. Something fishy is going on. Narrowing my eyes, I glare. “You’re up to something.” 

He laughs, head thrown back as he shakes with his mirth. I roll my eyes, trying not to let my lips twitch. Maddening man. Turning back to the pot, I bite my lip as I feel my lips tip up without my consent. By God, I love this crazy man. 

But he’s up to something. 

That means he is going to be in sooooo much trouble. He just doesn’t know it yet. 

 

The next day is pretty much standard: idiot young adults show up on the doorstep dripping random filth. I stare at them with Momo-oji covering his mouth in the entryway. I turn to him, brow raising. 

“If you’re going to be mean about it, you can go fetch some yukata and my jug of oil.” He snickers as he turns away, shoulders shaking. Rolling my eyes (again, this is becoming a habit), I flap my hand at them. “Come on. I even have a basket at the door now.” 

Orocchi does so, sighing in relief to not be covered in so much filth anymore. Yaya-oji is quick to do the same, shivering in disgust. Being smacked in the face with the smell of rotted meat and bog water, I wrinkle my nose. The wind has changed and now even Momo-oji who has returned is coughing at the stench. 

“Huzzah for being a civilian,” I murmur, taking the sopping clothing and dropping them in the laundry room. Setting up the clothes to soak, I trundle to the massive bathing room inset with stone and set on a natural hot spring used to warm the house in winter. Which, honestly, is one of the weirdest things I have seen. Apparently, the Hatake Clan got prime if small mineral springs that were heated back when they bought the plot sight unseen. 

Just one of those things, apparently. 

Making sure they have everything they need, I leave them to get washed, dragging Momo with me to the kitchen to drag out a pre-made pot of stock and a wrap of jerked meat. I shuffle the vegetables over and set to work. He smiles a little, watching me with warm, soft eyes, chin in his hand and smile a dopey curve. I blush, hiding my own smile by biting my lip. Gosh, Sakumo is too adorable. 

Before long, the two younger shinobi slouch up to the counter, hair wound in towels. It doesn’t take them long to eat and I urge them to the living room. Or what happens to be the equivalent, anyway. Brushing their hair out takes time, and I start with Jiraiya since his is a curling wave and frizz is not fun. Don’t brush dry curly hair, kids. It’s not a fun ride. 

It takes a while to finish and by the end, I am so  _ done _ with my own hair. It is flying around and getting tangled worse than usual and I have  _ had it _ . “When I’m done with you two, I am  _ chopping mine OFF _ ,” I snarl, raking my fingers through the curls. “This is  _ why _ I braid it after washing. There is just too much of it!” 

By now I have started on Orochimaru and miss the alarmed looks between Sakumo and Jiraiya and even Orochimaru’s eyes are wide. 

Quickly twisting the hair into a series of braids that hang loosely and will easily pull out, I work the rest into a low tail. Just to be honest, I’m not going to touch Yaya’s hair right now. I’m too frustrated. Too angry. I hate it, this sudden feeling of vulnerability, this stark reminder that everything is strange. That I’m wrong. It’s just my hair, but it isn’t  _ just _ anything. It’s like a representation of everything from the moment I woke up a toddler to now and I’m still mourning a lot of things and overwhelmed by even more things and I’m just suddenly done. 

Maybe that’s why Sakumo plucks me up and holds me to his chest, broad, hot hand smoothing over my back as he rocks me gently. I grab fistfuls of his yukata, burying my face into his shoulder. Breathe him in like he’s all I have. 

(I have to remember that he isn’t  _ mine _ sometimes and it hurts. It  _ hurts _ like being stabbed.) 

(I have to remember that I probably die because I don’t remember me at all.) 

Before I know it, we’re moving, Momo holding me tight and warm and  _ safe _ . Yaya leading the way and Orocchi trailing behind. I’m gently dressed down to my fundoshi and my hair is washed tenderly, every tangle picked apart with care. I cling to Sakumo, shaking as I try not to sob softly because sometimes everything is too much. It’s like opening the grief inside, beyond the marrow to the soul as I pour out the emotions that I have had since I finally allowed myself to think about where I was. I am alone in a way that I haven’t been since I held the tiny body of my baby brother, myself barely two years and fascinated with his everything. My family was big, loud. Warm and fiery and tempered. We were pillars for each other, strong and soft and gentle and firm. We loved loudly, we loved with our everything even when it ached to do so. 

I didn’t have that now. 

So quiet and closed and I missed being sought out for hugs and cuddles. 

“I hate it.” 

The softly spoken, broken words ring with finality. All movement stops for just a stunned moment before resuming. “Hate what, Hime?” asks the snake sannin eventually, voice low. “What could you hate?” 

“The loneliness,” I manage to whisper from a throat tight with self-loathing. I would be surprised if they heard me at all. “I miss my family. I miss the babies. I miss Granma. I miss my baby brothers and my cousins. I miss my  _ life _ .” 

A warm hand pets my wet back, my hair being rinsed and combed as they sit with me. Nothing is said in response to my stupid, blabbering self-pity so I guess they didn’t hear. I don’t know if I’m happier that they have not or if I’m disappointed. So, I try to let it go. To stop blubbering like an infant because I  _ am not _ , despite this body, and pull myself together. I am  _ better _ than this. I have too much to do, I don’t have a lot of time to affect things. I don’t even know if Nawaki is  _ alive _ . 

I don’t know how long I’ll survive to make a difference. But I will  _ try _ . 

Sighing as I’m pampered and my hair dried and brushed, I just… let it go. I need to, so I do. I don’t want to, I want to heal, to let it out, but I can keep it for a while longer. 

It’s for them, anyway. 

 

Orochimaru very carefully does not think about what he heard. He has been searching for a reincarnation for…  _ years _ . From the moment his parents died. And now, he has someone at his fingertips, someone who probably lived once already and he can’t, for the life of him, think of taking advantage. That pain he heard, can see, the almost dysphasia as the child trips over their own tongue sometimes. The times they try and reach for something and cannot, the spatial forgetfulness of someone trying to do something with phantom limbs, the almost tripping—it made awful, clear  _ sense _ . 

Daichi wasn’t clumsy so much as relearning a lifetime of habits in a much smaller form. 

It made terrible, horrifying sense in the way it should not. 

Because he had been looking for ways to change his parents’ fates, to bring them  _ back _ , and not once did he think about the consequences of actually doing so until now. Hime was from a different time and place, a different language if not an entirely different society, and so many little odd mannerisms that were weird but endearing were now glaring out at him like neon paint on a black canvas. If he brought his parents back, if he made them alive, would they even be able to handle the memories of dying? He was selfish, he admitted it, but was he selfish enough to carve someone back into being against the will of them, of the universe? Could he do that to his parents? 

Shaking off the thoughts, pushing them away and into a small box, the man-who-kind-of-was-and-definitely-was-not-just-a-man set the brush he held aside and pulled at the long tresses of hair. Jiraiya helped, sectioning the hair off until they could braid it with an expert touch despite this being the first time they have ever done so. It was thick and heavy and they shared a Look because hair like this was usually… kekkei genkai material. If they weren’t sure that Daichi was mostly Akimichi-Nara, they might have thought the mother was a Yamanaka. 

Yet, just because he was keeping his hands busy, keeping his mind on the here and now did not mean the revelation was silent. It was like a klaxon in his subconscious, constantly clamoring for attention. Compartmentalizing could only take him so far. He just hoped he was left to himself soon. 

 

Sakumo is not a man for questioning things - he is a shinobi. His job is to do as he is told within the chain of command. He is a problem solver where often the end of the problem is a very permanent solution. This is not a permanent solution kind of issue. This is not an issue he has any sensible business being a part of. 

This is, however, his  _ cub _ . They  _ picked him _ . Even after being bullied into caring for themself, his Hime came back and continues to allow him into their life. Let him see little bits of  _ other _ , of  _ foreign _ . They  _ trust him.  _ The  _ Shinobi _ ,  _ Assassin for Hire _ . It is… a new sensation. There is no ulterior motive beyond loving and being loved. 

(What a lie, it would be revealed, but for the continued life of him and his Pack and this cub. He could never hate them for that. Could not keep the anger nor hold to the betrayal. Because they loved him enough to ruin everything for his safety.) 

He will have to move his timeline up. He doesn’t have time to sound out everyone, will have to trust that he is well known enough to them that they will make sure that when he was away, that when the Hokage’s students have to leave, Hime will have someone. He cannot trust that the clan heads of the Nara and the Akimichi will be quick enough - it is war, who knows when they can make it back. If they make it back. 

Holding his cub, he closes his eyes. He doesn’t  have time. 

 

Jiraiya feels his stomach swoop. How old is Hime, really? Older than him? Than Sakumo-san? How has he-ah, she?  _ Them _ ? How did this go from simple to complicated? His stomach swoops again remembering how the child had scolded Sarutobi-sensei. About his child. 

Did… did Daichi know  _ things _ ? Did… did they  _ know _ … events? Them? Time past or time future? It… it wasn’t impossible, Daichi  _ existed _ . 

Confused, he thinks about it as little as he can for right now. This isn’t the time. 

There will never be a good time, but right now is definitely  _ not _ the time. That will have to wait like a million other things. Such is the life of a ninja. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Discord](https://discord.gg/4dCN72X) is my sounding board and crying corner. Come visit!


	7. Sakumo Messes Up, But Daichi Still Loves Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I read every single review with a giddy smile, I just don’t like skewering the numbers. It feels dishonest.

CHAPTER SEVEN 

 

The random visit to a “close friend” did not quite surprise me the next day, Sakumo seeming to be a bit…  _ lost _ , for lack of a better word. Lost on how to handle someone who is grieving as deeply as I am. Ninja probably kill their grief, I think indifferently, or kill until it isn’t grief. Whatever the case, I’m cuddled up against his chest, my hair in a big braid to my ankles once again, and two oddball ducklings not so stealthily trailing us in the shadows. 

“They do know how obvious they’re being, right?” 

The question seems to make Sakumo pause for a moment, blinking calmly as he continues through the crowd. “I believe that they underestimate your perception.” 

I roll my eyes as I sit up, his big arm firm under my bum and thighs. “Any kid would notice them. They are  _ obvious _ .” 

He seems to take another long moment to wrap his head around that, his lips twitching. He even opens his mouth before he has to clear his throat, visibly restraining his humor. “I’ll let them know.” 

Snorting at his amusement, I stretch back, making my spine bend with an ease of someone made of pudding. Yoga and gymnastics have benefits and Momo is strong enough that I feel no fear doing this even without notice. Grabbing my ankles, I let my body slouch over in the most awkward lump as is possible. Not that it’s any great issue for me, I have trained my toddler body to be elastic because if you can bend in unusual ways, you can hide in unusual and otherwise unattainable spots. Spots that someone much larger cannot get you from without destroying things and making a very loud, very attention grabbing ruckus. 

“I’m bored, Momo-oji,” I whine, shifting so I’m hanging from his forearm more like a donut than a sack of gelatin. He makes a sound of disbelief. “I really am. And I didn’t get to stretch yesterday or this morning, so here I am. Making a spectacle.” 

He laughs, faces of several ninja and civilians turning towards the unrestrained sound. I ignore them in turn, letting my ankles go only to grab them up again after turning my spine nearly 180 degrees. I sigh as things in my hips and shoulders release. I turn and go the other way, more than one person making a sound of surprise. Why is this so weird, this is a village of _godlike_ _ninja magical girl bullshit hax powers_. Orochimaru is basically a snake in a human body, they can contort in ways I can only dream of. I am not that impressive. 

“Hime, what are you doing?” 

I curl up, looking Sakumo in the eye. “Momo-oji, I don’t think you understand. I haven’t properly stretched in nearly two days. I feel like cement.” I grimace. “Very dry, cracked cement. I can’t even properly get the kinks out.” 

He gives me a weird look. I blink at him in return. He finally holds me out like a puppy, hands under my arms. I wiggle my toes at him from over my shoulders as I swing them around just because I can. “How.” 

That’s… a broad question. “How what, though.” 

He sighs, ignoring my silly tomfoolery in preference of getting where we’re going. Which I still do  _ not _ know. Pouting, I return to a more normal shape and flop over his arm and shoulder. 

So, truth: the only reason I’m a limber lad is because I know how to start and now I’m enjoying the whole  _ adult understanding, child elasticity _ shtick that comes from a second life that I can remember. Things I never got to try in Yoga due to injury or gymnastics because I started so late are so easy to me right now. I’m not doing crazy air stunts, I’m under developed for those shenanigans, but I get to enjoy the perks of starting from scratch physically while getting all the benefit of remembering how things are supposed to go. Not how they went because my hip got broken at nine or that I dislocated my wrists and one rib. Or broke my shin. Or torn a ligament in my ankle. Or broke three bones in my foot. Or got severe whiplash. Or had early onset arthritis in my hands and knees and spine. 

I had been accident prone and set for genetic failure. It had not been nice. 

Not that starving to near death or being what amounted to abandoned is great by any definition, but getting a do-over is kind of interesting. I am not happy with it. But it is what it is. The grief is not going to vanish and the problems with my body will be different and nothing is all that safe (fucking  _ Danzo _ ) but… well, I cannot dwell. That way madness lies. I have too much to do before that point. 

“We’re here,” the man mumbles while walking through well-manicured, well-kept gardens, a large pond of koi off to the side and cherry trees lining the edge and a giant willow being teased by a raised stone fountain in one corner. This doesn’t even look like it could be in Konoha. Holy smokes! “Please be polite.” 

I turn my topaz eyes on the man, brow going up. “Excuse you, I’m perfectly polite when people aren’t being idiots.” 

That seems to make him lose composure, the man laughing long and loud again, having to take a moment to collect himself this time. Hand smoothing over the crown of my braid, the man presses a nuzzling kiss to my brow. “You are a wonderfully clever mess.” 

I open my mouth to argue, indignant, before conceding. He does have a point, I  _ am _ a mess, and I know myself well enough to know  _ better _ than to think myself properly clever. I’m kind of foolish, in truth. Also, point of proof: I spoke to Hiruzen. Kind of harshly. For a  _ good _ reason, but I still did it. Sarutobi Hiruzen has yet to be back by. Who knew being scolded for being stupid about child care by a toddler could make a grown shinobi nope? Not I, but I wish I had at the time and had gotten a few more licks in. 

“Are you ever going to tell me who we’re going to see?” 

The mysterious smile of my wolf-dad is a very firm no. Also, when did I start thinking of him as a dad? He’s clearly not mine, of course, but that’s okay. Maybe I can butter him up for Kakashi at a later date. Oh. Oh no. If Sakumo is  _ this _ inhumanly pretty, how gorgeous is Kakashi going to be? Kpop pretty? Sesshoumaru pretty? If he’s the former, his mother must be a more normal, rugged beauty but if he turns out to be the latter, his mother will have to be a goddess on earth. If I survive that long, I’ll need a big stick. 

Not that it would help with ninja, but civilians? 

“Hime, I would like for you to meet a good friend of mine. Mito-hime, this is Hime-chan.” 

My brain screeches to a halt. Mito? As in, Uzumaki Mito? Hair gone a darker maroon, eyes that wild Uzumaki purple-blue-teal and without pupils. The twin buns and rhombus on her brow are very distinct and I remember idolizing how badass the woman was.  _ Is _ . Holy smokes, it is a living legend! It  _ is _ Uzumaki Mito. 

I turn from my wild stare to look at Momo. “Momo-oji, are you trying to get me  _ killed _ ?” I hiss, grabbing his yukata and shaking him as best I can. As in, not at all. “This is a goddess among women and you want me to meet someone who will take that spotlight I’m under and make it a supernova?!” 

He kind of grins nervously, my face drawing into a pursed disappointed Mom Look. “Surprise…” 

Mito-hime, wife of the first Hokage and holder of the Kyuubi and a nearly literal Queen, covers her lips with her fingers as if to hide a smile. I kind of want to see her really smile but I’m also trying to not hyperventilate like a weeb. Sakumo rubs my back, a look of concern on his brow. “I could ask Danzo-san?” 

I freeze, my breath leaving my body as panic makes me more like a stone statue in his arms rather than flesh. I blank out, unable to catch my breath. The mere mention of Danzo Shimura is enough to send me over the edge because he is the best and most terrifying bogeyman. He isn’t exactly caught until he’s nearly old enough to be dead and crafty enough to keep his head when it should have rightly been rolling. Several times. Stealing clan children to reprogram their brains and loyalty down to the marrow, making backroom deals with other nations, and starting wars for the hell of it we’re just parts of it. He is a psychological terror and a philanthropist only to himself. He revels in deceit and death. I am not clever enough for that directed at me. I am not ready or safe enough for that to happen and survive. Or,  _ worse _ , survive under his command. 

“-me! Hime,  _ please _ !” 

I come back, gasping and weak and gross with a sheen of sweat across all of my body. Sakumo has me tucked securely against his chest and I can see and smell Mito even over my stench of sheer terror. Ugh, I stink. Not that it matters, my face pressing into the ozone and green smells of my port in this storm. I can’t stop the sob that comes from my chest, heaving it harshly as I finally catch a breath only to lose it explosively. Sakumo wraps around me so firmly that it feels almost claustrophobic and I revel in the false security it gives me. I cling to him as I shake and shiver. 

I hate panic attacks. I hate them. I feel weak and tender, my body aching with residual tension. My head is cloudy and my face stuffy. My fingers are clenched so hard, I eventually croak for help in untangling them for the soft folds of yukata. 

It takes a while before I can breathe calmly, a cup of water proffered. I sip cautiously, tasting nothing but cool bliss. It doesn’t hurt that my shaking hand is covered by the large mitt of my Momo. Mine. Mine, mine,  _ mine _ . Even if he isn’t in reality, he  _ is _ in my head. That helps. Like, a lot. 

I finally settle because we aren’t done and I don’t have time to indulge every single meltdown I have. Time for business to resume. 

“S-so,” I mumble. “Sorry about that. You were saying?” 

Sakumo makes a sound, possibly of disbelief. Mito hums, tapping a fans to her lips. I blink because when did she get a fan? 

“Okami-chan,” Mito hums calmly and I bite my lip because she just called Momo what amounts to being nicknamed wolfy. This is too good to let pass up. “When you said you were bringing me a cub, I thought it would be a wolf cub. Not a guardian cub.” 

Um. 

I’m lost. 

Sakumo clears his throat. “Not like I knew either, Mito-hime. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” 

I bug-eye Momo, the man who just said he is as clueless as I am. How many people does he let know when he is floundering? Please, whatever power is out there, what ever being of greatness exists, never let Danzo be one of them. 

“Do you not know where bloodlines come from, Okami-chan?” 

I ponder this because this had been a debate from the beginning. I always went heavily with Youkai ancestry because it made sense both story wise and nationality wise. Spirits, land gods, beings of phenomenal ability within a specific realm, but also tricksters and ghosts. Demons. Monsters. Powerful and unknown beings. 

Some said it was because certain clans were born with mutations from chakra being introduced. Some said it was because clans started to work in certain fields or areas of chakra. Some proposed that they were blessed or cursed by monks and miko. There was even a proposed idea of humans being vessels and avatars of Spirit Animals not unlike the Summons. 

Whatever the case, chakra isn’t natural to this world and I know way too much about how things started because I like mythology and origin stories. So I stare at Mito from the side of my eyes. Because I have an idea, but I want to  _ know _ . Honestly, she or Madara are the best sources of information. Well, she is, I’m not sure Madara knows anything beyond chakra manipulation. Ridiculous man. 

“Well, Okami-chan?” 

Sakumo clears his throat. “I, uh, was told that Amaterasu was a possible ancestor as a child. I never really believed that.” 

I turn to look incredulously at the man. Seriously? I sigh, my head dropping to my hands. Ridiculous  _ man _ . I cannot believe this. Only,  _ yes I can _ . He is a ninja and that kind of critical self knowledge is basically trained out of him early on. 

I am so glad I will never be a ninja. Those guys believe so much nonsense about their own history. Rubbing my eyes, I make a face. Goodness, do none of the ninjas wonder where their wicked hax powers of doom even come from? Do they just think it springs from the aether? I sigh and thump my head on one broad shoulder, disbelieving but not surprised.  

“You must know something.” Mito-hime is definitely staring at me now. I very pointedly do not return it as I play with Sakumo’s hair. “Come, little guardian, you seem to have some answers.” 

I bite my lip and keep quiet because I’m not entirely stupid. Just a bad liar and apparently a  _ transparent fool _ . Hot fingers tuck under my chin and big dark eyes stare into mine. I chew a little harder on my lip until he presses his thumb against my teeth to stop me from mangling the flesh. As I am tasting blood, this is probably a good idea. 

“Hime,” he breathes and I clench my hands because that’s his  _ I love you but I don’t understand  _ voice. “Talk to me?” 

I shiver. It’s so hard keeping my voice quiet and I actually whimper. “I don’t want to,” I whisper because I am  _ terrified _ . Yaya and Orocchi can hear and Mito can hear and everyone hanging out in the rafters can  _ hear _ how I have knowledge I  _ should not _ . “I shouldn’t  _ know _ . I  _ should not say _ .” 

Tears well in my eyes and Mito-hime watches us, Momo trying to get me to talk about things that will see me easily dead or far worse off. Do they not understand? Do they think I’m disposable? Why does Sakumo push, doesn’t he see how scared I am? I try very hard not to cry and instead get angry. It’s not an improvement, but I can  _ think _ when angry. I can control anger. So I breathe deeply, feeling a burning in my lungs and under my ribs as something hot and bubbling seethes in my chest. 

It gives me courage. Courage enough that I turn to the woman who holds more than my life in her hands. “Why did you even agree to meet me?” 

There is a low curse from somewhere at my audacity but the woman herself is boring a hole through my head. “Because Okami-chan so seldom wants to expose me to others. I had thought this something interesting. I was correct, of course. You are revolutionary.” 

I shake my head with a frown. “What I am is a breathing corpse. I had hoped for double digits, now I will be lucky to see my next birthday…” I blink as I turn in to myself, voice lower. “Whenever that is.” 

She frowns now, properly. She is considering before she drops it and finally waves Sakumo closer. “We will have lessons. Starting tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, Mito-hime,” the man says with a formal bow, keeping me close to his chest for but a moment. I blink as Sakumo abruptly stands, arms holding me tight and firm. I don’t want to look up. I do  _ not _ want him to see my face and I very much refuse to see his. 

The walk back is faster, a quick jaunt over rooftops and away from pedestrians. Unreal jumps and the smoothness of his gait as he runs makes me feel like I am in a surreal dream, a false image. It’s almost jarring how alike it is to when I awoke and suddenly I was a toddler and the world made no sense. It made the grief held in the cage of my chest press harder against the bars of my ribs, as if wishing to break them down. It is the kind of grief one would waste away from. It is the kind of grief that will kill the holder when they run out of little things to keep them occupied. I walk Occam’s treacherous path and I know it. 

By the time we get back to the compound, I have the grit of my anger within my fingers because the moment I let go, I will crumble. I am set down, a large hot hand ghosting for my hair. A hand I duck away from. I glare at the man, finally giving him my face. It’s something stark and betrayed, maybe, or sharp and furious. I can’t decide. 

“I have seen lives and worlds and many people of this world, Hatake-san… but did you know, _I have_ _never seen evidence of me_?” He seems to still, like a stone or a statue. I am angry and scared and sad and heartbroken and _betrayed_ in a way I cannot understand. But that? That was cruel. That was uncalled for. I turn from him, instantly regretting the harshness of what I said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

My voice gets thick, my eyes burning and my throat closing with some form of guilt. “I love you, Momo,” I whisper when I can force myself to swallow past the lump lodged in my airway. “And I should be kinder. Forgive me, but I need to be alone for a while. I need to think.” 

He doesn’t move when I leave the room, my body all but running from everything I have built up around my fragile heart and mind. I leave the house proper and climb myself up into a thick tree, old and wide, branches creating a clearing so unlike the Hashirama trees. It is squat, for all that it seemed to be timelessly ancient, probably older than the village itself. It feels like a haven and I hide, pressing my hands to the bark as I close my eyes and wish with all my might that my… that my precious, frustrating, amazing  _ brother would be there _ . 

For all that we had fought, had clashed and roared, we were titans for one another. We were the beginnings for one another, creatures that shared much of the same from opposite ends of the spectrum. Where I was quiet with a long fuse and quiet temper, he was loud, a short burst of vocal wrath that was as frequent as mine were absent. Where I was patient and calm, he was  _ right now _ and boisterous. He was my Other, my Mirror. He was clever, politically and socially. I am and was clever as a visual person, but… that is it. I have never been on his level and never once thought I would need to be. 

So here I am, lashing out at the wrong people and being angry about the wrong things. I do not plan to live very long in this life, I have little illusions to my abilities and a very long list of the lack thereof. I should be grateful that I have what and who I have. Maybe I have changed things. Maybe not. But I do not have time to be angry or petty or sad. 

I have a laundry list of things to change and I had best get started on it. I don’t exactly have time. I wipe my tears and clean up the snot and I take a deep breath. I don’t plan on a long life. Being scared is ridiculous. Ain’t nobody got time for that. 

Time to really get things moving. 

… aaaaaaas soon as I can  _ get down _ . 

“Well. Snap.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Discord](https://discord.gg/4dCN72X) is my other home. I whine on there about writing and and cry about characters going off half-cocked without direction.


End file.
